The Dancing Days
by Anne1
Summary: In this not-so-little tangent of mine we look at our old favorite characters (with new plot twists) about 8 years after Hogwarts. There's romance (H/G), mystery, humor (I hope), and more! Please read and review!
1. Homecoming and Reminiscing

__

A/N: Well, I know I said I wouldn't do it- and technically I didn't! This isn't really a sequel to "Of Masters, Mentors, and Matrimony" it just happens to come after it! Okay, that sounds lame, even to me, but it really isn't- I promise! However, it is going to be a Harry/Ginny story and I have no idea how far I'm going to take it. I've been working on it in my spare time and was planning on saving it until I had it all written, but hey, it's Christmas, right? Well, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all my lovely readers (all I want for Christmas, of course, is a review!). I hope the holiday season finds you all happy and well read! Do enjoy the story! Love you all! ~Anne

Disclaimer: Okay, you know the drill, it's not mine, it never will be, and no matter how badly I want it Santa has already told me I'm not getting the rights to the characters you recognize for Christmas. :sigh: But I do own the plot and the ones you don't recognize (and any reviews you see fit to give me would be a lovely replacement gift!)

Harry Potter pushed open the door of his spacious apartment after a long day at work, undecided about what to do for his dinner, but looking forward to being back nonetheless. He hadn't been home for a week, away on a mission for the Aurors, and couldn't wait to collapsebut first- the mail. He scooped up his mail off the table by the door where Hedwig and other owls dropped non-urgent messages throughout the days when Harry was unavailable. 

As he was sifting through the numerous letters (most of which were the typical fan mail/ marriage proposals that he got on a daily basis) Harry headed into his kitchen and gazed forlornly into his virtually empty refrigerator. There was a half a carton of milk, the dregs of what used to be peanut butter, clinging to edges of a jar, and a molding head of lettuce. He sighed. 

Then he picked up the telephone Hermione had given him for his birthday; (she'd said "Oh you'll love it Harry! It's so easy to keep in touch!" He hadn't bothered reminding her that he'd grown up in a household with telephones until he was eleven, because it seemed rather pointless as the Dursleys rarely let him touch theirs anyway.) And punched in Hermione and Ron's number, because they were his only wizard friends with the muggle device in their home. Hermione insisted she needed it to keep in touch with her muggle friends. Ron insisted she needed it to drive him crazy.

Sure enough, it was Hermione who answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey 'Mione. Do you know what I can make for dinner out of milk, a bit of old peanut butter, and a moldy head of lettuce?"

"Other than indigestion? Oh Harry!" She half groaned, half laughed. "Welcome home! You're kidding about the food, right?"

"I wish. I just got home, checked my mail, and then had the unfortunate idea to look in my refrigerator. I think I'll go out."

"You could just conjure some food." She suggested.

"But that would require _cooking_" Harry reminded her, pointedly.

"Well, hit the Leaky Cauldron, then. That wouldn't be too bad. Tom always has something nice and hot cooking."

"I suppose I will."

"Have you heard from Ginny recently?"

"Just before I left, so last week- she was in Milan, but supposed to be heading to Paris that night."

"When is she coming home?"

"Still no word on that yet, but by the time she gets back I may be dead from starvation, anyway."

"Poor baby!" Hermione laughed

"Well, I'd better take my mail and head over to the Leaky Cauldron if I want to get any food tonight."

"Alright, Harry, good night!" 

"'Night, 'Mione." Harry hung up the phone and pulled his cloak out of the hall closet, heading out into the drizzly evening. He ordered Yorkshire pudding at the Leaky Cauldron since Tom seemed to be going regional. He sat at the counter and chewed quietly.

"Harry!" A voice called from behind him. He turned around on his stool to be faced with Jenna Gotheld, an ex-girlfriend.

"Jenna! What are you doing here? Didn't you move to South Africa?" He stood up and gave her a quick hug.

"Yeah, but I'm back in England for business for a few days- it figures it'd be raining." She gave a lopsided grin.

"Well, it frequently is." Harry commiserated, smiling. "So, how's Africa?"

"Incredible. It's so beautiful I can't even begin to describe. The people in the Ministry are so nice, too! I'm really enjoying it, but it's not home and it's good to be back. You have quite a fan-following there, you know."

"Do I really?" Harry grinned and raised his eyebrows.

"Oh yes- I'm dating a man who is Afrikaans and I was at his family's house the other day. He has a little sister who is madly in love with you. She's eight." 

"Really?" Harry's grin widened. "What's her name?"

"Rosa. She just thinks you're the greatest thing since Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Poor deluded little thing." She gave a fake sigh. 

"Hey!" Harry pretended to be indignant. "So, what's this brother like? Did he come back with you?"

"Yeah. He's great- really sweet. I think he may be 'the one' for me. His name's Chad and you'll probably meet him before we go. The reason I came back is for the Fletcher wedding. Since Amelia is marrying a muggle, I think Mundungus wants all the wizards he can get there and as the Ministry's ambassador to South Africa, that means me. I'm sure you're invited, too. It's probably in that huge stack of mail over there."

Harry grinned ruefully at the pile of parchment and envelopes that was sitting next to his rapidly cooling Yorkshire Pudding. "I've been away for about a week and it all kind of piled up. C'mon, help me open my mail." He suggested with a smile, giving her half the pile. "So, 'the one', huh? When do I get to meet this guy?" 

"Who says you do?" She teased.

"Well I have to check him out for you, don't I?"

"Funny, I don't recall any rules about introducing your ex-overly heroic-boyfriends to your current romantic interests"

"Who are you calling 'overly heroic'?" Harry pretended to look offended.

"Moi?" Jenna said innocently.

They began to sort and a second later Jenna grinned, holding up a letter. 

"I think this one's from Rosa!" She said waving it in front of his nose.

"Really?" Harry looked up interested, and took the letter from her. "You keep sorting, I'll read this."

He started smiling at the first words the eight-year-old had written and didn't stop. 

"Listen to this:" he quoted "'My big brother is dating Jenna Gotheld and she told me that she used to be your girlfriend! I asked her why you two ever broke up just so she could date Chad, but she didn't tell me. She just started to laugh very hard. I didn't think it was so funny. Thanks for saving the world! Love from your biggest fan, Rosa'."

"She didn't actually write that did she?" Jenna asked laughing and turning brilliant shade of fuschia. 

"Oh yes she did!" Harry replied, cracking up. "Look, it's right there in black and white! The kid obviously has very keen taste in people!"

"And she asked why we broke up" Jenna muttered loudly.

"I heard that!"

"I know you did- you were supposed to!" She shot back. "Oh my goodness! I almost forgot- I left Chad in our room upstairs almost an hour ago! You'll have to sort the rest of your mail by yourself."

"Well, Jenna, it was great to bump into you again. I'll probably see you before you leave. And you really cheered me up while I was moping about thinking of the head of lettuce that is rotting in my fridge at the moment."

"Ewwwww." Jenna wrinkled her nose. "G'night, Harry." She pecked him on the cheek and headed back up the stairs as Harry turned back to his now cold Yorkshire pudding with an inexplicable sense of sadness at seeing her go. He decided against finishing the meal and after gathering his mail again bid good night to Tom and headed out into the dark Diagon Alley.

** Meanwhile in Paris ** (If you don't speak French you may want to consult the brief translation of this section directly following it. For those of you who do, good luck deciphering it- I'm far from fluent!)

Ginny Weasley tumbled out from under her feather down comforter at the incessant ringing of her alarm clock, pulling half the puffy cream bed cover down with her. She looked tousled to say the least, wearing her nightshirt (one of Harry's old practice Quidditch jerseys). She stumbled over into her kitchenette and put on some strong coffee, as she was still exhausted from going to the theater with clients the night before to examine one of the actress' costumes she was supposed to duplicate. Well not duplicate, per say, but rather "convert" into robes for a costume ball. The thought still made her head hurt. (Well have you ever tried to make an 18th century ball-gown into robes?) The three glasses of wine she'd had hadn't helped either.

In truth, Ginny had been having a rough week since she'd left Milan and come to Paris. Not that she didn't love her French office and employees thereof, but being in the city of light and love without Harry it lacked something. 

She arrived at the Montmartre town house, which they'd converted, to a studio in a huffy mood. She was frustrated with the street artist who had offered to paint her -on one condition- that she take off "those 'orrible robes", and she suspected not replace them with anything; frustrated with the vendor who'd sold her her morning crepe and left off the sugar, which she felt so desperately in need of; and frustrated with herself for being over two hundred miles from where she really wanted to be.

As a result when she arrived at her drawing desk, she wasn't _all_ there.

  
**(italics translated at the bottom)

__

"Virginie! Virginie! _Ou est-tu?" _ Ginny's assistant Thérèse asked impatiently waving a hand in front of her glassy stare. Startled, Ginny looked up abruptly.

__

"Ah, Thérèse, pardon. Je suis desolée. J'ai avoir un rêverie." Thérèse's interest was peaked as she asked, _"Ah oui? De quel es-tu rêve? Où de qui?" _Ginny just smiled at the second question, but replied. _"D'Angleterre. J'ai mal du pays."_

"Je suis desolée, mademoiselle. Qu'est-ce que tu-as? Tu ta famille te manque?"

"Oui, et mes amis. Je manque eux beaucoup." 

"Pouquoi n'es pas-tu prendes des temps de vancances et vais à ta maison?"

"J'ai travail ici, Thérèse. Tu sais ça."

"Je vais arranger tout cette pour toi. Tu vas."

"Vraiment? Merci, Thérèse! Merci Beaucoup! J'adore toi! Au revoir!" And she apparated away.

(Translation(of French only)): "Virginia! Virginia! Where are you?"

"Oh, Thérèse. I'm sorry. I was daydreaming."

"Oh? What were you dreaming about? Or whom?"

"Of England. I'm homesick."

"I'm sorry. You miss your family?"

"Yes, and my friends. I miss them a lot."

"Why don't you take some vacation time and go home?"

"I have work to do here, Thérèse. You know that."

"I'll take care of all that. You go."

"Really? Thanks Thérèse! Thanks so much! I love you! Good-bye!")

When Ginny popped up she was back in her loft, grabbing her sketch pad and giant purse and magically locking her door behind her. She went downtown and caught a train to the Norman coast where the WTA (Wizard Transport Agency) had both shuttles leaving for London and boats for the Cornish Coast. Ginny decided on the train ride into Rouen that she'd go first to Ottery St. Catchpole, not far from Penzance, and visit her parents. 

After all, she hadn't seen anyone in England for upwards of five weeks now, and as much as she just wanted to get back in Harry's arms, ten to one odds were he'd be out on business for the Aurors. 

She planned to go home for a bit and have dinner with her mum and dad, then head up to London. Luckily there was a boat leaving only half an hour after her arrival at the coast and Ginny was able to buy a ticket easily on the only half full converted fishing boat. She sat up front, chatting with the captain, who was a Cornish wizard, educated by his mother. He was very interested in hearing about Ginny's years at Hogwarts and her large family. It turned out he had four brothers himself and didn't live far from Ottery St. Catchpole. They had a very enjoyable talk, in which Ginny told him how long she'd been gone and how much she was looking forward to getting home to her family and friends, and boyfriend (whom she refrained from mentioning by name).

By the time they reached the port in Penzance she was very anxious to get back to Ottery St. Catchpole and she simply disapparated from the wharf, since she decided she had enough nervous energy built up to keep from splinching herself- what a homecoming _that _would be!

When she popped up on the lane outside the Burrow, Ginny felt butterflies well up in her stomach, feeling remarkably like a bunch of small golden snitches. She flat out sprinted to the front gate, but when she got there, stopped abruptly. What if her parents weren't home? What if they had company? What if she was crashing a party? Her fears were quickly put to rest, though, by the warm lights shining from behind the kitchen curtains and the memory that there were no other wizards in Ottery St. Catchpole so who would her parents invite over? She slowly pushed open the gate, which swung easily, invitingly, and walked up the path. She rapped her knuckles smartly on the door and re-adjusted her bag on her shoulder as her mum called "Coming!" from inside.

Molly opened the door, wiping her hands on a tea towel, and looked expectant.

"Hi, Mum." Ginny said, grinning nervously.

"Ginny!" Molly threw her arms and tea towel around her daughter's neck. "Arthur, come quick! Ginny's back!" 

And suddenly her father came running, adding his embrace to her mother's. Ginny was laughing and tears leaked from her eyes. 

"Wow." She said wiping them away with the back of her hand. "I didn't realize how long it had really been until I saw you guys!"

"Come in, Ginny! How long are you staying? Where's Harry?"

"In London, I suppose. I just got off the ferry at Penzance and disapparated straight away. That's why I can only stay for dinner, Mum. I've not seen him in over a month. I left Paris and came straight here." 

"Oh." Molly's face had dropped a bit at the information that Ginny would have to leave as suddenly as she'd come, but she brightened quickly. "Well, you'll have to have a good home-cooked meal. I don't suppose you've had one since you left?" She suddenly gave her only daughter an accusatory glare.

"Not really; not the kind you make, Mum. Maybe if Harry can get away for a bit we can both come back for a visit." This news certainly brightened Molly and Arthur's faces and the three Weasleys went into the kitchen where there was a roast simmering on the stove.

"Would you like to owl Harry, Gin?" Arthur asked, gesturing to Errol Jr., the owl he a Molly had gotten when Errol Sr. had finally -er- fallen off his perch. 

"No thanks, Dad. I'm going to surprise him, too." Ginny grinned at him, and turned to her mother. "What's cooking, mum?"

"Roast end of beef in my special gravy. And mixed veggies." Molly replied stirring the pot. "You're not leaving my house without a hearty meal in you. You're too skinny, Ginny."

"Mu-um" Ginny groaned good naturedly. Her mother softened her gaze. 

"Are you sure you can't stay the night, dear? And take the train first thing in the morning?" 

"No, Mum. Really- I haven't seen Harry in _five_ weeks! If you think I wasn't eatingjust think about what he must have been doing!"

A look of utter horror dawned on Molly's plump face. "Oh myI shudder to think. Just imagine if Hermione left Ron alone for a monthhe'd starve!"

"I don't think he _starved_," Ginny laughed, "But I can't imagine he got many 'home cooked meals' either."

After a very pleasant meal and visit with her parents during which Molly lobbied ferociously for her to say the night, Ginny considered her options. She could go back to London that night, probably arrive around midnight, and possibly see Harry, or maybe not. (He often went away for days on end for mysterious business for work.) _Or_ she could stay the night at the Burrow in her old room and leave first thing in the morning after having breakfast with her parents. There was no doubt that no matter how much she wanted to see Harry right away, the idea of collapsing into her inviting bed upstairs was very appealing. In the end, that is what Ginny decided to do (much to her mothers delight) so she lugged her bag upstairs and shoved open the door to the familiar room.

It looked exactly as Ginny had left it when she'd moved to London and lived with Ron for awhile after her seventh year in Hogwarts. While her various apartments were now decorated in creams and pastels giving them a light and airy feel, her childhood bedroom had walls of a vivid emerald green. She'd painted them that way herself the summer she'd been ten. She flopped down on the floral bedspread, dropping her bag on the floor next to her, and gazed around contentedly. It had been too long since she'd been at home in bed with her parents downstairs having coffee in the kitchen. The only thing missing was the racket that should be the combined presence of her six brothers.

It was too quiet in the Burrow- no explosions from Fred and George's room, no yelling at the ghoul in the attic from Ron's, no Percy shouting at Fred and George and Ron for keeping him from his homework, no Charlie zooming past her window on his broom waving at her, and no Bill arguing with mum about his hair or his earring or his girlfriend (or more to the point lack-there-of). Ginny missed all of those sounds, even the ones that had driven her nuts when they'd been there. She missed her whole family being in one place. 

Come to think of it, she'd not seen them all under the same roof since Ron and Hermione's wedding and in her opinion it was about time they were. Hmm she'd have to talk to Hermione about the idea when she got home. Thoughts of what kind of event she could have that would get them all there tumbled around in Ginny's head as she drifted off to sleep.

The next morning Ginny awoke to the comforting sound of banging pots and pans from downstairs. She hopped out of bed and ran barefoot down the stairs, taking them two at a time. She came into the kitchen grinning and humming. "Just call me angel of the morning", an old muggle song she had stuck in her head. Her mother looked up at her entrance and grinned. 

"Morning, Ginny! Are you up for pancakes?" She surveyed her daughter's long legs, which were exposed beneath one of her brother's old t-shirts, which she'd slept in and added, "You really are too thin."

Ginny rolled her eyes and smiled, "Yes Mum, I'd love some pancakes, and enough with the weight lecture, okay? You're worse than Madame Pomfrey. My doctor seems to think I'm in perfect health."

Molly sniffed as though she didn't think doctors should go around saying foolish things like that, but she didn't comment. Instead she changed the subject.

"Do you expect Harry to be in when you get back to London?"

"Well, I just don't know." Ginny replied, sitting down at the table and pulling over the copy of the Daily Prophet that lay on it.

"D'you know I haven't see a British paper in a month?" She asked no one in particular, but her father came in at the same time and replied.

"No, actually, but we're very sorry. We could have sent the Prophet over." She grinned up as he dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

"That's okay, Dad, but thanks. I just meant I'm not very up-to-date on what's happening here in Jolly Old England.

"Well, we haven't heard from any of your brothers very recently, except for Percy, because while he goes to Croatia to help sort out their squabble with Serbia," Ginny couldn't help grinning. Only her mother could reduce an international incident to a "squabble". "Penny and the kids are going to come visit us! I'm so excited to see them all; little Noah must be so big now. You know how quickly babies grow." Molly brushed a tear out of her misting eye as she looked at her "baby" who had indeed grown-- to quickly for a mother's liking.

"The ministry is in a complete uproar over who Percy is planning to appoint Assistant Minister of the Council on the Dark Arts. He won't even tell us who he's looking at! Usually the job goes to some retired Auror of course, but rumor has it that they may give it to some foreign witch who just popped up last year. She's supposed to be very young and quite talented. I can't remember the woman's name- do you Arthur?"

"Ermm something Delacour, I believe. She's French, I know."

Ginny's ears perked up at this name. Unless she was greatly mistaken Delacour had been the last name of one of Harry's fellow champions in the Triwizard Tournament during her third year- the one from Beauxbatons.

"Really?" She began cutting up the pancakes her mother had set in front of her and munched on her first bite happily.

"_Delicieux!_" She exclaimed, and then at the strange looks from her parents corrected herself. "Sorry, delicious!" she blushed. 

Molly smiled, "It must be wonderful to be fluent in so many languages."

Ginny blushed again, "Just three." She said.

"_Just_ three?!" Arthur laughed. "For me it's just one!"

Ginny smiled and said, "Well it's not so wonderful when you've been up for thirty-six hours and you start speaking English to a French customer in Italy. I did that just this last week!" Her parents laughed. 

After dinner Ginny ran back upstairs and changed into a fresh pair of robes. She gathered her bag and a few things she was bringing back with her and a foil wrapped package of leftovers for the malnourished Harry. Then she headed back down to the living room, kissed both her parents good-bye and promised her mother she'd owl as soon as she arrived. 

She disapparated to the Penzance train station, where she headed into the wizard platform (15 and 2/9) and bought a ticket for the 10:15AM to Kings Cross, London. It didn't leave for a few minutes so Ginny stepped inside the station shop, looking for something to read on the journey. She looked at a variety of novels- muggle and wizard, cookbooks, and non-fiction, before the best sellers table caught her eye. Prominently displayed was a shiny black covered book with the gold title emblazoned as "_Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lived_" Beneath that in smaller print it said "An Unauthorized Biography Of The Greatest Hero of Our Time By Gillian Merran". Ginny suppressed a laugh as she read the inside of the book jacket. She decided to buy it if for no other reason than to tease Harry when she got home. She handed it to the middle-aged witch behind the counter whose eyes brightened when she read the cover.

"You a fan, darling?"

"Of the author? No, actually I've never heard of her work before."

"No, not the author- she works for the Prophet, I think. No, of _Harry Potter_!"  
"Oh." Ginny smiled. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. But then, aren't we all?"

"Well, I know I am!" The witch gave a toothy grin. "Me husband gave me a copy of that for me birthday last week. It's a great book!"

"When was your birthdayummm, sorry I didn't catch your name."

"Sherry. Sherry McNeil, and it was the twenty-second." 

"Well, happy birthday, Sherry. Thanks." Ginny said, handing over the money and taking the book.

"Thank you, umm-" Sherry called as Ginny pushed through the door to the shop.

"Ginny. Ginny Weasley." She called back and headed out to her train, which had just pulled into station.

Once Ginny was settled into an empty compartment she pulled out the book and opened the crisp first page. The first sentences said: Lily and James Potter welcomed their first son, Harry James, on July 31, 1985. (A/N: I know Ms. Rowling has said it was 1981, but for the purposes of this fitting in with some of my other stories I've changed the year a bit so that the current books take place now and so on) Due to circumstances some have called fate and many have deemed tragic, he was to be their only child

The author went on to say how Sirius Black had been named Harry's godfather and gave an account of the night of Halloween 1986. Then she continued to talk about the Dursleys, whom remarkably had been quoted. The author called them rather unpleasant people, but did quote Petunia Dursley as saying "Well, we tried as we might to stamp it out of him, but he's just like my horrid sister, that one." The clever writer used this quote to illustrate the ways in which Harry was like both his parents, following in their talented steps at Hogwarts, becoming head boy, inheriting James' Quidditch talent, and ultimately choosing the Aurors as a career. 

Ginny was quite impressed by the talent of the young woman and found herself agreeing with Sherry McNeil's diagnosis of "It's a great book!". The book was so well written in fact, that it presented information that Ginny knew as well as her own name in such a way that it all seemed new. 

Granted, it was a biography of Harry Potter the hero, not the man Ginny was in love with, but it made the train ride pass so quickly that she felt as though they'd barely left Penzance when the train pulled to a stop at platform 17 and 5/8 in King's Cross. Ginny gathered her things and hopped off the train, crossing from the wizard platform, through to the still bustling muggle station. The clock on the wall read 11:45 AM. 

Ginny hurried out of the station and signaled for a cab. One pulled up quickly and as she climbed in she noticed the cabby eyeing her robes curiously. She ignored his interest however, and smiled at him. "Charing Cross Road, please." He pulled away from the curb and into the non-existent traffic. 

The taxi driver told her about his twin daughters whose birthday it was that day. Upon hearing this news Ginny pulled a silver ring off her finger and a golden locket from her purse. The ring she'd picked up at the Parisian flea market (_marché aux puces_) and the locket she'd gotten to give to Thérèse for being so kind and letting her come home. She'd be able to find Thérèse something else in London, though. 

Fifteen minutes later Ginny said "Pull over by this bookstore up here, please." And the driver did as she asked. She climbed out of the cab and handed him the ring and locket saying, "For your daughters. Tell them happy birthday." The man looked up at her in surprise and then his ruddy complexion broke into a grin.

"They'll love them. Thanks so much, miss."

She pulled some money out of her purse. It took her a moment to realize that it was a few silver sickles. She rummaged further, but only found francs. It was no use, She had no British muggle money. 

She counted out seventy francs and handed them to the driver saying, "I'm so sorry- I've just got back from France and this is all I've got. You'll be able to change them at a bank. That's about ten pounds." The driver looked up at her and noticed it was beginning to drizzle. 

"Miss," he said, "This one's on me." And drove off. 

Ginny grinned to herself, and turned towards the Leaky Cauldron, which the muggle driver hadn't even seen. The pub was nearly empty as it was a bit too early for the lunch crowd and Tom was wiping down the bar when Ginny walked in. She walked up to the counter and said good morning to him and he grinned back at her. 

"Haven't seen you in awhile, Miss Weasley!" 

"No, I've been in Europe for over a month now and I just got into King's Cross twenty minutes ago. Let me tell you, it's great to be back Tom! I can't wait to get back into Diagon Alley and see everyone!" 

He smiled at her and said, "Well, you know the way." And gestured toward the back door that led out to the small courtyard behind the pub where the entrance to the magical street was. She walked across the courtyard, tapped the brick above the trash can, and stepped through the archway back into her world. 

As Ginny entered Diagon Alley she meandered along the street watching a group of small children with their noses pressed up against the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, strolled past Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlor and saw a group of old wizards seated at a sidewalk table slurping ice-cream cones and chatting about England's chances for the next Quidditch World cup as the title holders. England had won the last cup during Harry's first year as seeker, but the key argument of one thin, lively old man seemed to be "Wi'out Potter, we've got no chance of catching the snitch so it doesn't matter 'ow wonderful our chasers are!" The rotund balding man across from him was citing the cup from Ginny's third year at Hogwarts in which Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian seeker, had caught the snitch, but Ireland's superb team of chasers had led them to victory anyway. 

Ginny continued on her way, turning off Diagon Alley and eventually finding herself on Harry's street. She walked into the building where his apartment was and climbed the four flights of stairs to the front door, which she opened magically. The living room was lit only by the late morning sunlight streaming through the windows and Ginny made a quick search of the apartment. Upon finding to her satisfaction that it was empty, she dropped her bag on the couch and headed to the kitchen where she opened the refrigerator to put away the leftovers her mother had sent with her. 

"Ewwwwww." She wrinkled her nose. "I leave you alone for five weeks, Harry, and- just ewwwwwww" She regarded the smelly head of lettuce with disgust. Finally she levitated it with her wand over to the trashcan and dropped it in; then she shut the refrigerator door. 

She walked silently to the master bedroom and pushed open the door. She was met by the overwhelming smell of him. She couldn't believe she'd never noticed it before, but there was a combined "smell" of Harry. His shampoo, soap, after-shave, and him-- all combined to make his smell. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed that. 

Then Ginny decided to apparate to The Auror's Academy, on the chance that Harry might be there. She popped up on the cobbled street outside the formidable building and walked up the stairs to the guarded entrance. She introduced herself to the guard and handed over her wand, as all visitors were requested to do for examination. The guard did a quick dark arts detection spell and then an identifier one. When he was satisfied that she was indeed Virginia Weasley he issued her a temporary talisman, which would take her directly to Harry's office. She took the floating orb and held it in front of her, saying "Harry Potter's Office, please." The globe took off and Ginny had to jog to keep up as it zoomed into the massive building. 

Chapter 2

The tiny talisman led her through a number of different halls and Ginny would later swear it took her back through at least three. Just when she was getting so frustrated that she thought she might smash the little orb into one of the corners it seemed so fond of slipping around without her noticing it came to a dead halt- in front of a blank wall. Ginny knew that this was indeed the entrance of Harry's office- now if only she could figure out how to enter it Suddenly the talisman glowed green and as Ginny watched a word appeared in it: _Familius_. Now that she had the password, Ginny paused. She hadn't seen Harry in over a month, and now he was right behind that wall. Would he have changed? Had she? She felt her stomach do a flip-flop, but she shook her head, as though to clear it, and said clearly, but quietly "Familius!".

The wall suddenly slid apart as a slit appeared in it. The first thing Ginny saw was a desk piled high with papers, and behind it, his back to her, she spotted that shock of unruly black hair. Harry appeared to be talking to someone through something in his hand and was unaware of Ginny's arrival.

"No! I need to know how many there were!" He was saying, obviously agitated, raking a hand through his hair. "How can I know how many agents to send if I don't know what they're up against? How am I supposed to know if _I_ need to go back out or if I put together a team to handle it?" He paused, probably making the person on the other end squirm Ginny imagined. "Umm-hmm. I thought so. Get back to me. Thanks." Ginny thought the "thanks" was a bit pointless after the interrogatory nature of the rest of the conversation, but she just smiled.

"I'm not totally sure whoever that was isn't crying just now." Ginny said, making Harry whirl around and gasp. She grinned. "Glad to see me?"

"Gin!" In seconds he had crossed the office in two quick strides and wrapped her in a huge hug and kiss.

"Mmmmm." She murmured, pulling back slightly. "Have I ever missed doing that! It's so good to be back."

"When did you get back?" Harry asked as Ginny removed a stack of papers and sat cross-legged on his desk.

"Around noon. I got into Cornwall last night and stayed the night at Mum and Dad's. Then I got the 10:15 from Penzance to King's Cross and went to your place to find you, but needless to say you weren't there." She smiled. " I left my stuff there including some leftovers Mum sent- and from the looks of your fridge, you need them! I got rid of the lettuceewww." She made a face and Harry laughed. 

"I knew I loved you for a good reason!" 

Ginny grinned. "Absolutely! But that's not it" she smiled mischievously.

Harry grinned back, but then his face turned serious. "The last month has been absolute hell without you."

"I know. I found the lettuce." Ginny said wryly.

"That's _not_ what I meant, but yeah, that too." Harry grinned. "But you know what I mean- why are you back in London? In England for that matter?"

"I got homesick" Ginny said, making a face at him. "You know, I _could_ just go back to Paris"

"Or not!" Harry exclaimed vehemently.

"Or not" She agreed. "Oh! I almost forgot! We have to get a birthday card for someone."

"Who?" Harry asked.

"Shirley umm, hang on now- it's coming. Shirley McNeil! That's it! No, no, that's _not_ it- it's Sherry McNeil!" 

Harry gave her a bemused look. "Why exactly are we getting a birthday card for someone whose name you can't even remember?"

"Because she's a great fan of yours, it'll make her whole year, and she sold me this fabulous book! Wait'll you see!" Ginny rummaged in her purse where she'd slipped _The Boy Who Lived_. She drew it out and handed it over to him as Harry groaned upon seeing the cover. 

"Not another one!"

"But this one is actually well written!" Ginny protested mildly, but she was smirking. "Sherry said the author worked at the Prophet, so I have to ask Hermione. Anyway- Sherry's husband got her the book for her birthday which was the 22nd and it would just make her day if you sent her a birthday card. Please?"

"Oh give it to me." Harry said, holding out his hand, smiling at her. "Did you honestly think I wouldn't sign a birthday card?"

"No, but it was fun guilt tripping you into it anyway!" Ginny grinned and conjured a card with a picture of a birthday cake on the front. The candles appeared to really be blazing, and she did a quick spell that enabled the recipient of the card to blow them out. She opened the card, plucked a quill from amongst the jungle of papers on the desk, and quickly wrote:

Dear Sherry,

I'm sorry this card is so late, but we hope you had a wonderful birthday and many happy returns! 

Sincerely,

_Ginny Weasley and _

Then she handed the card to Harry who quickly scrawled:

__

Harry Potter

Next to her name and returned the card to Ginny.

"Thank you." She said, sliding it into and envelope and giving him a kiss. "You just made her day."

"Glad to do it- though I must admit I don't see how."

"Well, of course you don't silly! You _are_ Harry Potter, so you don't have to idolize yourself! But other people doSherry does, and so does Gillian Merran." She flashed the book again and Harry reached out quickly grabbing her around the waist. He pulled her towards him, as Ginny squealed "No fair!" and plucked the book from her hands. 

"I just knew there'd be downsides to dating a very proficient seeker who is also seven inches taller than me." She pouted. 

Harry laughed, "Oh, now you're going to break up with me because I'm too good at Quidditch and I'm too tall?" 

"You'd deserve it." She said, making a face at him. He laughed again. 

"I thought you _wanted_ me to read this book!" He said.

"No! I just wanted to tease you mercilessly with it!" Ginny exclaimed vehemently. 

"Oh really?" Harry raised his eyebrows playfully.

"Yeah- I guess the scheme's up though, so you'll just have to read it instead." She giggled at his confused expression, because Harry had the distinct impression he'd just been tricked- and he was right.

At that same moment Hedwig came flying through the partially opened window and dropped a thick envelope and a thinner one on Harry's desk before settling on her perch and flapping her wings a bit to rid them of the water droplets they'd acquired during her flight. Harry first picked up the thin envelope and opened it.

"Now _that's_ interesting" He murmured as he read; "Mundungus Fletcher wrote me back." He said, by way of a very vague explanation to Ginny. "Hey! Listen to this- 'I've also sent your invitation to my granddaughter's wedding. Something of a touchy subject in the family just now, but it's on the 8th. Hope you can come. - Fletcher.' That's what Jenna was telling me about last night."

"Really?" Ginny said with sudden interest. "Amy Fletcher's getting married? That's interesting And who's Jenna?"

"Old girlfriend. I didn't know you knew her." Harry said.

"I don't. Why do you think I asked?"

"Not Jenna, Amelia Fletcher."

"Oh. Well, we met a few times when we were children, but Amy's a squib, so when I went to Hogwarts we lost touch. We were never that close anyway, though. Not a great personality, as I recall, but then she was only about five."

"She's a squib?" Harry said incredulously. "Mundungus Fletcher's granddaughter is a squib?"

"Yeah, the whole family was very shocked, too, but you can find squibs in some of the most powerful, old wizard families. Heck, even Dumbledore's great aunt was one."

"Really?" Harry said, surprised, before turning to the thicker envelope and pulling out various slips of parchment. Ginny nodded and seemed about to say something when Harry's mouth dropped open, conspicuously.

"What?" 

But he only managed to mouth silently, gesturing with the card he was holding. Finally he handed it to Ginny who read it and said, "Oh my. You don't think it could be a joke, do you?"

Harry, who had collapsed into his chair, shook his head and replied.

"No- they haven't got any sense of humor."

"Of all the freaky coincidences" Ginny said shaking her head and setting down the invitation on the desk. It looked something like this:

Miranda and Godfrey Fletcher request the pleasure of

your company at the marriage of their daughter

Amelia Julianne Fletcher

To

Dudley Vernon Dursley

  
On the date of December the Eighth in the year Two Thousand and Ten at 2:oo PM at the Church of St. Winifred, Little Whinging, Surrey.

Ginny sifted through the other sheets that had come with it. One gave detailed instructions to the church and specifically requested NO apparating, please. Another told the recipient where the couple were registered (Mark's and Spencer's- bride's choice and Sainsbury's- groom's choice) but Ginny didn't recognize either store as they were both muggle ones. The last slip said:

We ask all guests to come in formal muggle clothing if at all possible, to allow for the comfort of all our guests. Thank You. - The Fletchers

Ginny read this to Harry and he laughed. The idea of Vernon and Petunia Dursley sitting through their own son's wedding with half the guests wearing brightly colored robes was laughable at best.

"So what are you going to get them?" Ginny asked.   
Harry looked at her in surprise. "Who says I'm going?"

__

I do Ginny thought, but she said, "Harry, you like Mundungus Fletcher- do you really want to miss this opportunity to see him in muggle clothes?" Harry laughed. "And you'd have to have a good excuse for not going- I think Fletcher's going to need all the friends he can get at this wedding. I can't imagine he's too thrilled about it." 

"That's true." Harry conceded.

"I'm sure Dumbledore will be there - they're friends. And last, but really not least, Harry, they're your family. I know you hate them and they hate you, but it's just right that you should be there, and besides, ten galleons says they don't know you've been invited and I can't wait to see the look on their faces." Harry laughed again.

"Who says you're going?"

This time Ginny did say, "I do. Besides, you don't think I'd let you have all this fun alone, do you?"

"I guess not." Harry grinned.

"And I get to go shopping for muggle clothes! How much fun can one girl have? I'd better call Hermione for help." Harry laughed again at her antics. 

"Alright, Gin. You've convinced me- I'll go. Hey! Are you going already?" Ginny had pulled out her wand and was halfway through the apparition spell.

"Well, I've got to go see Hermione about helping with my outfit! After all, the wedding's only in four days! I think our invitation must have been delayed. I'll see you tonight, okay?"

"Okay," Harry agreed reluctantly and leaned across his desk, giving her one last kiss before she disappeared.

Ginny popped up outside the offices of the Daily Prophet and walked through the magically revolving door. A gentle snow had been falling in the cobbled street outside and she shook off her cloak when the first blast of warm air hit her. As she did this someone across the lobby began snapping rapid pictures. Ginny quickly turned her head to one side, obscuring the photographer's view of her face. This had been a bit of a problem ever since the press had spotted her and Harry together at a number of public functions. The wizarding community of London at least had been abuzz with rumors and Ginny had been recognized once or twice in Hogsmeade as well. 

She hurried across the floor bustling with people towards the staircase that would take her up to Hermione's office shielding her face from the persistent cameraman. As she neared him, the man lowered his camera and called out.

"Hey! Ginny! Is that any way to treat an old friend?" She looked up in surprise.

"Colin!" She changed her direction and headed over to him. He wrapped her in a huge hug.

"I'm sorry" Ginny blushed, "I thought you were-"

"Trying to get a picture of you to plaster across the front page?" Colin nodded understandingly. "Yeah, sorry about that. Actually, when I see a woman as beautiful as you enter my place of work the artist in me takes over- I just couldn't help myself." Ginny grinned at him and blushed again. 

"Consider yourself forgiven a thousand times over. I've just become a little paranoid about the press lately. I never even realized how much they must hound Harry until we started going out, but I was mercifully hidden from the public eye until the last two months or so, when we stopped being so careful about where we went."

"Umm hmmm." Colin nodded. "Well, Gin, here's a tip. Don't hide."

"Huh?"

"Well, Harry is very relaxed with the press because he knows that they're always going to write about him. If you're going to be romantically involved with him, then they're going to write about you, too. Just don't hide every time someone tries to snap your photo and eventually they'll keep it to a relative minimum. It'll never go completely away, but it will subside. Right now you're news; enjoy it for now, and remember it won't be like this forever."

Ginny leaned over and pecked Colin on the cheek.

"Thank you, Colin. That helps a lot. And it was great to see you again." 

"Not a problem- it's always a pleasure, Ginny." He smiled at her and waved as she headed up the staircase, then turned and walked across the bustling lobby.

Ginny smiled to herself as she ascended the staircase until she reached Hermione's office. Unlike Harry's, which she'd only just left, this one had a door and a shiny nameplate on it: 

****

Hermione Granger, Reporter

Ginny tapped lightly on the door, as she heard voices inside. 

"Come in!" Hermione's exasperated voice called, and then continued speaking to the other occupant of the office, "Gillian, it's good, but it lacks something- it lacks you. Do you know what I mean?"

As Ginny slowly pushed open the door to the impeccably neat office (it's Hermione's, what else would it be?) her eyes rested on a blond girl a year or two younger than her with curly hair standing across from Hermione, who was leaning against her chair, on the other side of her desk.

As the girl nodded and her curls bobbed, Hermione's gaze fell on Ginny.

"Ginny! What- what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in France? Harry said- Oh my manners! This is Gillian Merran, a reporter here, and Gillian, this is-"

"I know." Gillian said simply as Ginny laughed at Hermione's surprise. The young woman turned to Ginny, "It's such an honor to meet you, Miss Weasley."

"Well, thanks. It's nice to meet you as well, Gillian." Where had she heard that name? Oh! The book! 

"I actually just read your book- very well written, I must say. I'll have Hermione here let you know what Harry thinks."

The poor thing looked like she might have just collapsed and died right there in Hermione's office had a chair behind her not made a fortuitous catch- as it was directed by Ginny's wand. Now it was Hermione's turn to suppress laughter. 

"Gillian? Gillian? Are you okay?" Ginny stood back slightly as Hermione revived her with "_Ennervate_."

"Did you- did _you_ just say that _Harry Potter_ is going to read my book?" She looked at Ginny expectantly.

"Erm, yes?" Ginny said tentatively.

The girl looked like she might have fainted dead away again if Hermione hadn't gently helped her to her feet and guided her to the door. 

"You go back to and finish work on this article, Gillian. And then you might want to go home and have a lie-down."

She nodded rather numbly, "Lie-down yes, a lie-down" and headed out into the hall.

"Do you think she'll be okay?" Ginny asked, concerned.

"She'll be fine." Hermione said, suppressing a smile, "Once she gets over the shock. It's great to see you Gin!" And she gave Ginny a quick hug.

"You too, 'Mione. It's so good to be back." She let out a contented sigh and flopped down into a chair.

"So, have you seen Harry yet?" Hermione asked, pointedly.

"Why do you think I said it was good to be back?" Ginny teased, wiggling her eyebrows, "But yeah, I just came from the Academy."

"Ah." Hermione nodded. "Did he know you were coming? Because if he did, he's going to get-"

"No, I surprised everyone- even myself, actually. I was being utterly useless at work and Therese kicked me out, so I went to visit Mum and Dad on my way back to London."

Hermione snorted. She highly doubted that Ginny had been _kicked out_, but to each her own

"How are Molly and Arthur?"

"Just great. Oh, it was so great to see them, even if I did have trouble thinking of anything but Harry while I was there."

Hermione grinned knowingly. "Yeah, I can imagine. So why aren't you two glued to each other's sides now?"

"Well, he's at work and I don't really want to trail around after him there. Besides, you and I have a mission."

"We do?"

"Indeed." Ginny produced the parchment invitation and passed it to Hermione, who, in turn unfolded it and read it over quickly. 

"Are they _serious_?" She asked incredulously, and Ginny nodded.

"It's going to be great. I'm sure the Dursley's don't know Harry's been invited and I, for one, can't wait to see the looks on their faces." She grinned evilly and slowly Hermione began to as well.

"That _would_ be priceless" She admitted.

"You better believe it! Anyway, Harry would have to go anyway because, as I pointed out Mundungus is going to need all the friends he can get at this thing. I think the invitation was little more than a plea for help."

"You mean Harry was thinking about _not_ going?" Hermione asked.

"I know!" Ginny nodded vigorously, "I couldn't believe that he wouldn't want to go and rub their noses in it! But that's Harry for you- a complete enigma sometimes. But I need your help. You see where it asks that all guests wear formal muggle clothes?" Hermione nodded. "Well, you know what that means: Shopping!"

Hermione laughed. "Okay, count me in. Just let me give this article to my editor first." She waved a long roll of parchment in the air.

"No problem." Ginny said, but before the words had even left her lips, Hermione had set down the parchment on her desk, muttered a spell, and it disappeared.

"Ready?" Ginny asked.

"Ready." 

And they headed out of the Prophet offices, out of Diagon Alley, and into muggle London.

* * *

"No, Hermione!" Ginny insisted for the fifth time as they stood on a street corner off the Fulham Road. It seemed to the two women as though they'd been in just about every shop in London-- twice.

"But why not?" Hermione asked, earnestly. "After all, they are registered there, so I see no reason for you not to get an outfit there as well."

"Hermione," Ginny gave a long-suffering groan. "I am not getting this dress at Mark's and Spencer's! I understand that it's a nice, sensible shop, but really! For one thing it says _formal_, and for another just no!"

"Fine, fine. Just forget I said anything." Hermione murmured as Ginny said, "Mark's and Spark's _honestly_!"

"We're going to Soho, now. I need to check in at my office there, and then we can start some serious shopping!" Now it was Hermione's turn to groan.

"But, Ginny! My feet hurt!" Hermione could swear she heard Ginny mutter "Hmmph. Lightweight." as the two disapparated, making more than one of their fellow pedestrians do a double take. When they popped up they were in a bright and airy looking loft with bolts of fabric draped over everything in sight.

"Martin!" Ginny called, smiling at the disarray. Soon a young man's head popped up from behind a velvet-laden couch. Martin was fairly short (just a bit taller than Ginny's five feet, seven inches) and slight of build with short cropped nut-brown hair. He had a young face that made him look even younger than his twenty years and belied his efficiency as Ginny's London apprentice. 

"Miss Leasley!" He grinned; showing off the three pins he had clenched between his teeth which he promptly removed and repeated, "Miss Weasley! We weren't expecting you back yet!"

"Yes, well, I took a bit of time off from Paris to come home for awhile, Martin, but it's strictly vacation, so you won't see much of me."

He nodded knowingly. "So what are you doing here?"

"I have to get a muggle gown for a wedding, and since you're muggle born I was wondering if you had any suggestions about where to look.

"Oh! A gown!" Suddenly Martin's face got very business like, "Would you let me throw something together, Miss Weasley?"

He had already whipped a sketchpad off a nearby table and was making rapid moves across it with a quill.

Hermione smiled and Ginny shrugged at her.

"Sure, Martin, let's see what you've got. We've certainly got nothing to lose at this point."

He handed her the thick pad which was covered in sketches of women in long flowing robes, many of them Ginny's own. However on the particular page that Martin had drawn on was a rough sketch of a woman wearing a gown that floated in ruffles just below her knees. Its back dipped down to the small of the woman's own in a rounded V shape and the front had a smaller rounded V that came to its narrowest tips of fabric over her shoulders, displaying her collar bone. It was accompanied by a wrap around the shoulders.

"Martin, my friend, I think you've done it." Hermione said to the young man, who blushed as Ginny just gazed at the sketch and grinned stupidly.

"Perfect it's perfect. Not too dressy or flashy, but not casual at all, either. Just perfect." She murmured, not taking her eyes off the picture. "I think in a deep, deep color, don't you, Martin?"

In answer, Martin just waved his wand towards somewhere in the back of the room and out floated a bolt of deep, navy blue fabric. As it came to a halt in front of Ginny and Hermione, Hermione realized it was silk.

Ginny beamed at her young, but obviously talented assistant.

"I knew I hired you for a good reason!" She exclaimed gleefully. "Now surely I have something in here somewhere for a wrap" she said as she began to forage through more bolts of fabric. 

Soon Ginny resurfaced, clutching a bolt of heavy, shining satin in a shade of antique ivory. Over on a table Martin had rolled out yards of the silk and, taking the drawing, he placed it on top of the fluid material. Then he took out his wand as Hermione watched with interest. The first thing she'd noticed whenever she'd been in any of Ginny's offices was the total lack of supplies, save the fabric. Not even so much as a pair of scissors. 

As Martin began to speak under his breath a pale white light emitted from the tip of his wand and he began to trace delicately over the outline of the dress in the sketch until the very lines themselves began to glow. Then the fabric itself raised into the air and began to writhe and twist, the light weaving in and out of the masses and folds as though it were some kind of unbreakable thread. 

Then as soon as it had started the fabric dropped limply back to the table in a heap. Martin acted like this was nothing unusual, went over to the fallen silk, and sorted through it until he found what he was looking for. Sure enough, he came up holding a dress- _the _dress. The very same dress from Martin's sketch. It was gorgeous; the ruffled hem was flawless and it hung in the air with such ease it might have been draped over a body already. 

Ginny, who had just performed the same spell on the satin and was folding up the wrap, turned around and smiled. 

"That looks perfect, Martin, thanks." She said warmly as she plucked the dress out of the air. 

Hermione was utterly amazed. This Ginny was nothing like the dumbstruck one she'd seen moments earlier, this one was absolutely business-like and totally composed. It was strange how true passions could do that to some people; Hermione remembered more than once having babbled incoherently over an article or book. 

When she looked up, Martin had flushed to the roots of his hair and remarkably resembled a radish with brown fuzz because Ginny had simply yanked her robes over her head in order to try on the dress. She seemed completely unaware of Martin's presence, or perhaps growing up in a house with six brothers did that to someone, Hermione speculated.

Six brothers or not, Hermione felt obliged to rescue Martin from what was obviously a very trying moment in his young life.  
"Erm, Ginny?" She tentatively began.

"Hmmm?" Ginny asked, as she picked up the dress to pull it over her head.

"Well, put some clothes on!" She finally exclaimed, unable to take it any longer- Martin now had his eyes screwed tightly shut.

"Huh? Hermione- this is 'clothes'!" Ginny explained with a lightening grin fingering the lacy slip she wore beneath her robes. "When you grow up in a house with six older brothers, 'clothes' is anything at all that covers what's absolutely _necessary_ and not much else, usually. I mean this is positively religious, by comparison to some of the things that Fred and George have barged in on me in. Why, the stories I could tell you-" Hermione cut her off and pointed at Martin, who was squeezing his eyes shut to the point that it looked rather painful.

"Oh!" Ginny exclaimed with a sheepish smile. She hurried over to him and said, "Martin, sweetheart, it's okay- you can open your eyes. I promise I won't take anything else off. It's just that the bathroom seemed like a wasted trip" She trailed off as Martin opened one eye, a crack, but shut it tightly again when he saw his boss standing in her bare feet and the slip.

"Gin," Hermione said sighing, "Just put some clothes on, okay?"

"Okay, okay!" Ginny held up her hands in mock surrender and finally pulled the dress over her head.

As she spun around, long hair flying behind her, even Hermione had to gasp. At this point Martin forced his eyes open and began to clasp at what he (at least in part) had created. 

"You're going to knock them dead at this wedding, Gin." Hermione said, and Martin nodded vigorously, obviously at a loss for words.

"You think so?" She asked, giving another little twirl.

"Absolutely."

__

A/N: Well, that's all for now folks! So, what did you think? Let me know in your review! And don't worry, I have plenty of plot options open, even if I'm not quite sure where I'm going with it yet I haven't forgotten Jenna, or her boyfriend and his sister, or Ginny's plan for a family get-together, or Percy's appointment of the Assistant Minister of The Council on the Dark Arts and his trip to Croatia, or Harry's mysterious assignment, or of course the wedding (miracle) of the century, and the many other plot twists I stuck in there! I bet you guys only noticed about half of those Oh well- just review! 


	2. E.B.J.S.

__

The Dancing Days - Part Two

By Anne

A/N: Hello again, everyone! Well, here I am, back with part two of this non-sequel, whatever it is! For those of you who missed the review I added to part one - in this Dumbledore is alive and will enter the story (later) so when he does don't be too surprised. 

I know this is a bit late, but it had to be beta-read, which is something I've never tried before (hopefully it was worth it)! I have already begun work on chapter three, though, and it's certainly fun to write! (I'll let you interpret that as you will.)

On another (familiar) note- please review when you're done reading this, I really want to hear what you have to say!

Special thanks go to: Everyone who reviewed part one - I love you all!; and to Al, the world's best beta reader, who agrees with Ron about turnips. J

Disclaimer: The stuff that's mine doesn't count for much, the stuff that's not mine counts for a bunch- if you sue me you will get a lot of Chemistry homework - go ahead; I dare you!

When Ginny and Hermione finally left the Soho loft almost an hour later, it was with the new dress and satin wrap enclosed in two boxes and large smiles on both of their faces. 

"Well, that's that settled, then." Ginny said, beaming at Hermione over the top of the stack of boxes in her arms. (Martin had thrown together a tuxedo for Harry, as well as Ginny's dress.) 

"Yes." Hermione agreed, "Where are we off to now? Dinner at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"No, I want to get home and drop these off. Then I'm going to meet Harry."

"Ah." Hermione smiled, knowingly.

"'Ah' what?" Ginny made a face, "And you ought to be getting home as well. My brother will be wanting his dinner." She laughed at the scowl that overtook Hermione's face.

"I'll show him where he can stick his dinner. What does he think I-" 

"Whoa! 'Mione, down girl! I was only joking." And the frown on Hermione's face lightened considerably.

"Well, I suppose you're right. I should be getting home, too. Give Harry my best."

" And mine to Ron. Tell him I'll drop in for a visit soon." Ginny said smiling, and with two quick 'pops' both women disappeared.

* * *

"Boss?" Alexander Morinov poked his head around Ron's office door.

"Yeah, Alex?" Ron looked up from the stack of paperwork he was wading through. He'd just wrapped up a case of missing twins- kidnapped. Unfortunately only one of the twins had been retrieved, unharmed. The other was currently sporting a pair of elf ears and a tail with a tuft in his room at St. Mungo's. 

Alex pulled the door fully open and came through it, holding an envelope in his outstretched hand. 

"They had this for you in the lobby. I said I'd bring it up." 

"Thanks, Alex." As Morinov opened the door to leave, he revealed a petite person on the other side, her hand raised, as though about to knock.

"Smith." He grinned at Delia Smith, another member of M.L.E.S. squad 14, the only female one, to be exact.

Delia offered a weak smile in return, but Alex didn't seem to notice, and he brushed past her, whistling to himself.

"C'mon in, De." Ron said. He'd begun to open the envelope Alex had delivered, but now dropped it onto his desk.

"Thanks." She smiled slightly more genuinely now, and sat down.

Though Delia was the only female member of the squad, in the past few weeks, her masculine side seemed to be catching up with her. More and more often she'd go to the pub with Alex and Jake (the fourth member of the squad) and sometimes even Ron, after work. And, on these outings, instead of drinking heather wine, or butterbeer, cocktails, or even real beer, as she used to, she would have hard liquor, usually single-malt whiskey. 

"De", as Ron fondly called her, had been a bridesmaid in his and Hermione's wedding, but as far as he knew she and Hermione hadn't been in close contact for a number of weeks now. Ron was getting worried about her.

"What's up, De?" He asked, watching her steadily; her jet-black hair framed her face as it always had, but even he could see how very tangled it was, and it looked as though it had been a long time since it had had a good wash. She reminded him vaguely of a house-elf he'd once known named Winky. 

"Well, boss. I don't know if you've noticed, but I've been having a bit of trouble this last month or so." Ron didn't reply, so she continued. "Would you think it was strange if I told you I wished at one point that I was a lesbian?"

Ron's eyes widened considerably, and he raised his eyebrows. At one time he would have had an uncontrollable desire to laugh at that statement, but Delia's expression did anything but inspire humor.

"De? Are you sure you shouldn't have some sort of therapist for this sort of thing?"

"No, I've gotten past that- just let me get this out, okay?" So Ron shut up.

"About three months ago this bloke I was seeing and I moved in together, right?" Ron remained silent. Delia never spoke about her love life at work, had never mentioned it to him, in fact. Ron had never asked, supposing that as long as she did her job, it wasn't really any of his business.

"And it was going just fine- I mean we got on really well, and we had-" She paused, "chemistry." Ron wasn't sure he wanted to hear where this was going, but he kept quiet. "We did really well until the beginning of last month, and then things started to go a bit-" She paused again, "strange." 

At this point, Ron did speak up. "Strange how?"

"Well, he stopped telling me things. I'd ask where he was going and he'd say 'Nowhere.' Or something equally enlightening and he'd go off for long stretches of time, with work- or at least that's what _he _said. I knew better- at first I thought it was another woman or something, but the signs didn't really point to that. And when I confronted him about it, accused him of having an affair, he seemed genuinely surprised. Shocked, even."

"You confronted him?" Ron asked, surprised himself.

"Of course. Anyway, he denied it, but he also said that if I didn't trust him, we had no relationship- and that was it, it was over." She fell silent for a moment, then added, as an afterthought, "That was in the middle of November."

Ron was quite at a loss for words, a rare occurrence, but it didn't seem to matter, as Delia wasn't quite done yet.

"My question to you, boss, is, as a guy, if he wasn't having an affair, what do you think he was up to?" Ron didn't answer right away, and when he did, it was with great caution.

"Well, De, obviously I don't know the guy in question- if I did I'd knock him upside the head for treating you so badly-" This earned him a small smile, " But I'd guess he had some sort of secret, probably harmless, but really it could be anything."

"I suppose." Delia looked exhausted, as though she'd been holding the story in for quite a long time, and now that it was out, it was a tremendous burden relieved. "Thanks for listening, boss."

"No problem. Anytime, De." Ron replied, watching as she stood and moved to the door. She closed it quietly behind her, not noticing Ron picking up an envelope from his desk as she did.

* * *

"So you're coming?" Mundungus Fletcher sat across from Harry Potter in his office at the Auror's Academy, jiggling his foot over his knee as though he had a bad case of nerves. Which, on reflection, Harry supposed he did.

"Yes, of course- I'll be moral support." Harry grinned at the older man. He had not mentioned that he was related to the groom, nor was he in a hurry to do so- Dudley was not his favorite relative. But then, as he, Petunia and Vernon were Harry's only relatives, there weren't really many to choose from. "And you're bringing a date?" Now it was Fletcher's turn to grin.

"Yes." Harry said, not elaborating. He didn't often discuss his romantic life with aging Aurors- unless you counted that one chat with Mad-Eye Moody

"This wouldn't be a young lady who I've seen in the paper a bit recently, now would it?" He prodded.

"It might." Harry said, shuffling some papers on his desk. He'd had enough trouble keeping his mind on his work without people _reminding_ him of Ginny's spontaneous return

"A Miss Weasley, I believe?"

"Well, they're a big family." Harry said, non-commitally.

"Yes, with only one daughter- so unless you're bringing Molly to my granddaughter's wedding" Mundungus trailed off.

"You never know." Harry paused. "I'm quite fond of Molly Weasley." He grinned and Fletcher shook his gray head, exasperated.

"So, back to these neo-Death Eaters-" Harry began. "We don't think they are any of the old bunch, do we?"

"No, children maybe, but not the originals. Probably think they're going to finish what their parent's started, if you ask me."

"Not if I can help it." Harry replied, a grim but determined look coming over his face.

* * * 

When Hermione reappeared after apparating of the street corner, she found herself in a large apartment, comfortably furnished with plush, squishy furniture and a variety of photographs, both Muggle and wizard.

From a spot on a coffee table all nine members of the Weasley family waved furiously up at her; all looking exactly as they had on the occasion of Ginny's graduation from Hogwarts. There were photos of all her and Ron's friends, many from their school days, and quite a lot from their wedding day, last year. And in a place of honor on the mantle piece, there was a snapshot taken of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, all on their graduation day. Harry and Ron towered on either side of Hermione and all three had their arms intertwined and were laughing. 

Hermione smiled at the photograph and straightened the frame as she passed, on her way into the kitchen. Here she set her purse on the counter top and set about taking a pot out and putting it on the stove. She pulled various vegetables out of the refrigerator and, plunking some potatoes and carrots down at the other end of counter, began chopping up turnips and tossing them into the pot.

Once all of the vegetables had been minced and were in the large copper basin, she lit a cluster of bluebell flames beneath them and they began to sizzle. Then, in a trick she'd learned from Mrs. Weasley, she held her wand over the pot and out came a steady stream of liquidy tomato broth. She covered the entire confection with a copper lid and set it to simmer, perching on a stool at the counter and picking up a sheet of parchment to write to her mum. 

Just as she was finishing up her letter, she heard the fireplace in the living room roar to life and subside just as quickly, signaling Ron's return. Soon he strode into the kitchen, as Hermione sent Pigwidgeon out the window, the letter fastened to his tiny talons. 

Ron came over and pecked her lightly on the cheek as she pulled the window shut tight. It was beginning to snow outside and a few flakes had fallen into the snugly warm kitchen off the sizeable patch that was developing on the outside window box.

Hermione returned Ron's kiss, and smiled.

"Why did you use floo powder instead of apparating?" She asked, curiously. 

Ron shook his head, sending a shower of soot onto the spotless tiled floor. 

"I have to get my apparition license renewed - It's expired and I can't apparate till I do." He seemed a bit preoccupied, as though apparition licenses were the last thing on his mind. 

"Oh. Well, you'd better do that tomorrow, on your lunch hour or something."

"As opposed to, say, having lunch?" Ron asked, wiggling his eyebrows at her. "I know to someone who spent most lunch hours at school holed up in the library, skipping them may not seem like much sacrifice, but to those of us who've become accustomed to having some sort of nourishment at midday, it's a less appealing suggestion."

Hermione made a face at him. She knew perfectly well that Ron skipped lunch plenty of times- especially when he was busy at work with his squad, and that he was just teasing her. However, she changed the subject.

"Guess who I saw today?"

"Who?" Ron asked as he lifted the copper lid off the pot and sniffed the contents. "Smells great, that." He added.

"Thanks." Hermione said, magically directing the fallen ash and soot from her kitchen floor into the nearby dustbin. "And go on- guess." 

"Umm Dumbledore?" Ron guessed lamely.

"No." Hermione smiled slightly.

"Erm oh I don't know! Mum?"

"Closer." Said Hermione with an annoyingly knowing air that reminded Ron strongly of their school days.

"C'mon, 'Mione! Just tell me! I mean, you don't even like guessing games!" He complained indignantly.

Hermione gave a sigh and said, "Oh fine, then. You're no fun. Your sister's back- Ginny came to visit me."

At this news Ron's eyes widened and he dropped the pot lid with a clatter on the counter.

"Ginny's back? She's come home?" 

"For awhile, at least." Hermione nodded, replacing the lid on the simmering soup.

"Well, where is she?" Ron said, spinning around, yanking open the pantry-closet door as though Ginny might be hiding in there. Hermione stifled a giggle.

"Well, she's certainly not in there." She said, gesturing to the door, which Ron was still holding. "She's with Harry, I imagine." 

"Oh." Ron said, coloring slightly and closing the door sheepishly.

Hermione often thought that Ron didn't like to dwell on his little sister's love life too much; and ever since it had involved his best friend, the feeling seemed greatly exacerbated.

* * *

Ginny apparated to her own apartment straight away, after leaving Hermione on the street corner. The loft was light and airy, decorated in soft pastels- blues, grays, and lavenders; but it looked dark, due to the lack of light from the large windows. It was only a little past six, but already the sky was an inky black, bejewelled with bright pinpoints of stars. 

As Ginny gazed out into the night sky, a shape seemed to be making it's way towards her window; rather like a very large owl. Once, as a girl, Ginny had had an American pen-pal who'd sent her a letter by bald-eagle on July the fourth as some sort of odd patriotic statement, and this rather reminded her of that. As the "thing" grew ever closer, Ginny opened the window and leaned a bit out, then jumped back suddenly as she realized what was racing towards her. 

A minute later Harry Potter glided to a halt on his old Firebolt and hopped off in the middle of Ginny's living room as though this was a perfectly normal thing to do.

Ginny hastily shut her mouth, which she realized was open with an abrupt start. Harry waved his wand casually at the window, and it slid closed easily.

"So, what are we doing?" He grinned at Ginny, turning to face her.

"I don't know. I wasn't expecting you to come hurtling through my living room window on that old thing." She pointed to the broom, valiantly pretending to be exasperated, but Harry could see the corners of her pretty mouth were upturned, as she examined the broom.

"Why d'you still ride this? I mean, Lord knows you have plenty of newer, faster brooms." She asked, knowing what the answer would be, even before the words left her mouth.

"But none of them are like this," Harry said, fondly picking up the Firebolt and setting it in the corner. "So what are we doing?" He repeated.

"Well, do you want something to eat?" Ginny asked, zapping away the puddle of melted snow that had formed beneath the windowsill.

"Sure. Where do you want to go?"

"I don't care." Ginny replied.

"In a right helpful mood, aren't you?" Harry teased, tickling her.

"Ahh!" Ginny squealed. "St-stop- your hands are freezing!" She said breathlessly, grabbing them in her own.

"Well, riding a broom through a snow storm will do that to you." Harry said, allowing her to massage warmth back into them.

"Well whose brilliant idea was that?" Ginny shot back, sounding very much like her mother. Harry told her this and she made a face at him.

"Now, this is no time to be insulting." She said, frowning, "I was just about to let you take me to the Leaky Cauldron for a bite to eat."

Harry laughed. " I wasn't being insulting!" He exclaimed, "I love your mum."

"Me too- in very small doses." Ginny said, making a face at him, "C'mon, let's go. Here's your cloak." Harry said, as he summoned it from the hall closet. Ginny wrapped the wool garment around her shoulders and they set out into the snowy night.

Twenty minutes later, Harry and Ginny hurried into The Leaky Cauldron, a gust of wind and snow at their backs. Harry had convinced Ginny to walk in the snow instead of apparating and now to show her appreciation she had taken the accumulated snow from her head and shoulders balled it up, and thrown it at him. It had turned into a brief but furious snowball fight in the courtyard that concealed the entrance to Diagon Alley. It was a draw, though both claimed to have won as they stumbled, laughing, into the warm pub. 

A few diners looked up momentarily from their food at the couple, but most returned to their meals quickly, more than one smiling to themselves at the antics of the young lovers. One however, seated near the fire, called out to them.

"Harry!" Both Ginny and Harry turned to see a pretty young woman beckoning to them. Ginny didn't recognize the woman with ash blond hair, cut into a neat bob, though it was apparent to her that Harry did. He grabbed her arm and led her over to the table where the woman and her dining partner, a man with sun bleached hair, and a ruddy complexion stood.

"Jenna! It's good to see you- again." Harry said, smiling. "Gin, this is Jenna Gotheld. Jenna, Ginny Weasley." Jenna extended her hand which Ginny shook with a smile, saying "Ah yes, I've heard about you."

"As have I." Jenna said grinning. "You're Ron's sister, of course, and the designer, right?"

"Yes." Ginny said, fingering her fiery locks at the mention of her brother.

"I have some of your robes!" Jenna said, blushing slightly.

Ginny really did blush, but grinned as well. From behind Jenna came a voice.

"Umm, Jen?" Her companion finally spoke up.

"Oh!" Jenna gave a little jump. "I almost forgot! This is Chad- I told you about him, Harry." 

"Of course." Harry said, extending his hand. "I got a nice letter from your younger sister yesterday." 

Chad laughed, showing off pearly teeth. "Yes, Rosa is quite a fan of yours. And I've heard quite a bit about you."

"Haven't we all?" Jenna laughed, from behind Chad, sensing his unease.

"Well, we don't want to interrupt your meal." Ginny said pointedly, gesturing at their half-full plates.

"Of course." Jenna replied, "And we don't want to keep you from yours." Ginny and Harry walked over closer to the counter and sat down at a small round table in the corner as Jenna and Chad reclaimed their own seats and began to converse quietly.

"So that was Jenna." Ginny said mildly.

"Yeah, that was Jenna." Harry repeated, then paused. "What did you think of the guy?" 

"Chad? Well, he didn't seem fond of you." Ginny murmured.

"You noticed that, too, then?"

"Yes, I'd guess he's jealous- you know, E.B.J.S."

"E.B.J.S?" Harry asked, giving her a bewildered look.

"Yeah- Ex-Boyfriend Jealousy Syndrome." Ginny recited with a small grin. "There's E.G.J.S., too. That's-"

"I know- 'Ex-Girlfriend Jealousy Syndrome.'" Harry recited with her.

"Right! You've got it." Ginny said, and, noticing Harry still looking over towards Jenna's table, then lowered her voice so only Harry could hear her. "It's probably just common jealousy."

"I suppose." Harry replied in the same low tone as Tom walked over to take their orders.

* * *

"When d'you think Ginny will come over?" Ron said, as he swallowed a mouthful of soup.

"I don't know- probably not until sometime tomorrow."

"What on earth would she be doing until tomorrow?" Ron asked, jabbing at something in his bowl.

"Do you really want to know?" Hermione asked, giving hima_ look_.

"S'pose not." Ron replied, shaking his head as though to rid it of an unpleasant thought.  
"Then don't ask." She replied. "What _are_ you doing to that soup?"

Ron had now worked whatever he'd been poking onto his spoon and was holding it up to the light.

"What _is_ this?" He asked.

"A turnip." Hermione answered, without a pause.

"A _turnip_?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Yes." She said, nonplussed.

"In vegetable soup?"

"Yes." She repeated a trace of irritation in her voice.

"Well, Hermione"

"What?" 

"Turnips don't go in vegetable soup"

"Why not? They're vegetables." She replied sensibly, as only Hermione could. 

For once in his life, Ron couldn't quite think of a response to this. He was saved from having to, however by the appearance of Pigwidgeon, tapping impatiently at the widow.

"That was fast!" Hermione exclaimed, jumping up to let him in.

She untied the response from her mother and Pig hooted, happy to be in the warm kitchen as Ron poked a chunk of turnip down his tiny beak.

"Ron! Don't feed him that." Hermione said, without looking up from the parchment.

"How did you-" Ron began to ask, but he was interrupted.

"We've been invited to my aunt Lorraine's house on Sunday for dinner."  
"Lorraine that's the American one, right?"

"Yes." Hermione noticeably rolled her eyes. "I don't understand how a woman like that could have given birth to Lila." 

"Now, did I meet her at the wedding?" Ron asked.

"Probably. Lila was a bridesmaid, of course, and Aunt Lorraine was the one with the blonde hair in the beehive- looks like she hasn't gotten out of the year nineteen-seventy-two"

"Oh! I remember her! Loud, but nice."

"Yeah, that's a euphemistic way of putting it I often wonder what Uncle Herbert was thinking."

"Hermione!" Ron said, laughing. "So, why are we going to Lorraine and Herbert's?"

"Well, apparently Lila has a new boyfriend who we 'simply must meet'."

"Well, that'll be fun." Ron said, "At least their attention won't be focused on us; it'll be on whatever poor slob Lila brings."

"Too true." Hermione agreed. She took a piece of parchment out of a nearby drawer and scrawled hurriedly on it:

Dear Mum,

Thanks for writing back so promptly. So, Lila's found herself a new guy, eh? Well, I haven't heard from her in quite awhile. It'll be good to see you all at Aunt Lorraine's on Sunday. Tell her that, barring any unforeseen emergencies, we'll be pleased to come- seven o'clock on the dot. See you there!

All my love,

__

Hermione

She approached Pigwidgeon, but for once in his life Pig didn't seem keen to take on this particular job. He flew backwards, away from Hermione, and straight into a cloak rack. Ron laughed, as did Hermione, so she used Motlverian her "work owl", who was large and tawny. "Mot", as they called him, took flight into the rapidly swirling snow.

After Hermione had pulled closed the kitchen window for the third time that evening, she turned around. Ron had given his attention back to his soup. He was staring at it, in deep concentration. 

"Interesting, is it?" Hermione asked as she watched him.

Ron gave a start and looked up at her, as though seeing her for the first time.

He spoke, "You know, I don't really like turnips " And with that relevation, he stood up and walked out of the kitchen, Hermione staring, in amazement, after him.


	3. Brides and Bells

__

Author's Note: Ah, well. Here we are again - sorry this chapter took so long to upload (it's been done for about a week or so), but I was busily making corrections and editing. Enjoy the story (even if the wedding itself makes you gag - it did me at points!) and please review when you're done.

Special thanks go to everyone who reviewed chapters one and two - I love you guys! To my wonderful beta-readers Al and Wotan, without whom this would be quite horrendous (you should see all the typos they catch!), and to everyone who emailed me asking where this was - it's great to know you guys are waiting for it!

Disclaimer: The characters (HP ones) are J.K. Rowling's, my characters and the plot are (guess who?) mine, and the lyrics to "Do You Believe In Magic?" belong to the Lovin' Spoonful. Now, without further ado

_The Dancing Days: Chapter 3_

* * *

As Ginny flitted through her flat on the morning of December the 8th, she thought about her visit to her brother's office the day before.

* * *

She hadn't seen Ron (or any of her other brothers) in over a month, and when she had turned up at his M.L.E.S. office, it had felt like a mini-homecoming. He'd given her a huge hug and then said, "So, what took you so long to come and visit me, eh?"

Ginny felt as though she'd been plopped right back into her ten-year-old self, as though no time had passed at all.

"I've been busy," she said, flopping back into a chair and kicking off her high heels, perching her feet on the edge of his desk. "Bloody hell, those heels hurt."

"Why do you wear-" Ron cut himself off, "No, never mind, I don't want to know. What have you been so busy with that you've been back for three days and yet haven't come to visit your favorite brother?"

"But I went to see Percy the minute I got in," Ginny said, teasing. "What do you think I've been so busy with? Ha-"

"I don't want to know," Ron repeated.

"Good decision." Said Ginny, laughing.

"I think I'll kill Harry," Ron muttered under his breath.

"Bad decision." Ginny laughed again.

There was a knock on the door. Ron called out, "Yes?" 

It was opened by a young man, about nineteen years old. He came through the door and stood back a bit, talking to Ron, but his eyes never left Ginny. 

"It's rumored the suspect is the head of the neo-Death Eater faction in Britain. He was tracked to Kent, but the local M.L.E.S. agents lost him. There haven't been any further developments in tracing him. " As he said all this, his eyes were trained on Ginny's bare feet, resting next to a stack of reports on Ron's desk. Her toenails were coated in a vibrant red nail-polish.

"Um, I'm probably never going to see you again, so um-" he stammered a bit, "Can I just say that you have really sexy feet?"

He didn't hang around for an answer, but rather, slipped through the door as fast as he could, which was just as well because Ron was half way out of his seat, his wand outstretched.

"Thanks!" Ginny called after the messenger as her brother glowered at the half-open door.

Ginny laughed again (she seemed to be doing an awful lot of that lately). "Oh come on Ron. He wasn't even twenty - and I'm a big girl. If I had a problem with teenage boys telling me I have sexy feet, I'd damn well tell them."

Ron glared at her, and Ginny gave him a _look_, but then her gaze softened.

"Ron, I'm twenty-four years old. I can take care of myself, but it means a lot to me that you want to do it for me."

Ron relented and stopped glaring. 

"I know that, Gin, but it makes me nuts enough to think about you with _Harry_ let alone sit by while hormonal teenage idiots try to hit on your feet."

Ginny giggled.

"He's going to be doing paperwork for the rest of his training." Ron muttered mutinously. Ginny laughed again.

* * *

As she stood in front of her mirror wearing a slip, she smiled at the memory. Quickly she plucked her dress out of her wardrobe and slid it over her head, then twirled in front of the mirror, the skirt fanning out a bit down by her knees.

She took out her wand and aimed it at her hair, letting it curl gently below her shoulders and, clasped pieces on both sides with a pearl encrusted clip. She fixed on a pair of pearl earrings and put a strand of fresh-water pearls around her neck. Then she stepped back and examined the effect.

"Beautiful," came a voice from the doorway. Ginny whirled around and saw Harry leaning up against the doorjamb in his tuxedo, watching her.

"Harry!" she exclaimed. "How long have you been there?"

"Not long," he chuckled, walking over and wrapping his arms around her waist. Ginny wriggled free from his grasp, turned back to her mirror and applied a bit of lipstick and blush. She took her wrap and draped it around her shoulders.

"How do I look?" she said, as she turned to face him.

"Magnificent. You're going to upstage the bride," Harry said, holding her at arm's length. He was rewarded by a blinding grin and a quick kiss. 

"C'mon, let's hit the road, How are we getting there?" She asked, pulling him towards the door.

"By car," Harry replied as they walked out of the loft and down three flights of stairs.

"You don't have a car." Ginny reminded him as he held open the door to the cobbled street for her.  
"Says who?" asked Harry, leading her through the street to the Leaky Cauldron. They emerged into Muggle London and in front of the Leaky Cauldron, in a parking space Ginny was quite sure she'd never seen before, was a tiny car. Well, not _tiny_, but quite small. It was a vintage Austin Healey, a pale, shimmery blue color.

"Wherever did that come from?" Ginny exclaimed, looking at the car in surprise.

"Borrowed it from a friend. There's a guy at work who collects Muggle cars and refurbishes them. Your dad would love him."

"I'll bet." Ginny smiled to herself and climbed into the car on the passenger side, narrowly missing being hit by a passing cyclist. 

She didn't seem to notice, and as Harry pulled out into the London traffic, Ginny began to tell him about her visit to Ron's the night before. "Did I tell you someone told me I had sexy feet, yesterday?"

Without taking his eyes off the road, Harry replied, "No, but I knew that already. Who on earth told you you had sexy feet?"

After Ginny had explained, Harry suppressed a grin.

"You can't blame Ron for reacting the way he did. After all, I probably would have done the same thing."

"Men," Ginny muttered under her breath, but loud enough so that Harry heard her.

"Yup. That's us," He laughed.

They spent the rest of the ride to the church chatting about nothing in particular and lapsing into comfortable silences now and again, born of their ease of being with each other. When they finally arrived at a moderately sized church Ginny was quite excited about meeting Dudley. She had heard more about him than she could possibly remember, but, while she'd met Petunia and Vernon at King's Cross ("met" in the widest sense possible - as in, "exchanged glares with). Dudley had never, unsurprisingly, come anywhere near Harry's school friends if at all possible. Of course, in the Weasley household, the tale of Dudley and the ton-tongue toffee was practically legendary, and Ginny had trouble envisioning Harry's cousin _without_ a four-foot long tongue. Shaking this unpleasant image from her head, she slipped her arm through Harry's as they mounted the steps, and walked into the church. 

Inside, they found Mundungus Fletcher pacing in the vestry, looking much paler than his ordinarily ruddy complexion. Upon seeing them enter, he hurried over and greeted them.

"Potter! You made it! That's two more for our side," he seemed to have a mental register. He shook Harry's hand and then turned to Ginny.

"Miss Weasley, it's great of you to come," he took her hand as well, and Ginny noticed his was quite clammy.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Mr. Fletcher," she smiled, in what she hoped was a soothing manner - he looked as though he needed it.

"Well, Gin, shall we go and get seats?" Harry suggested. But before Ginny could open her mouth

"What's that?" Mundungus Fletcher turned back to Harry. "Oh yes. You go ahead, I'll stay here," He looked thoroughly distracted, and Ginny noticed that Mad-Eye Moody had walked into the other end of the vestry dressed in pin-stripe trousers, a rather beat-up old sweatshirt, and a polka-dotted bow tie. Harry shot Ginny a grin as Mundungus hurried over to him.

They walked into the sanctuary, and Ginny's first impression was to take a large step back - she felt as though she was being bombarded: with flowers, bows, and frills. The church itself was clean and simple, nice in general. However, once Amelia and Dudley had got hold of it 

The altar was adorned with pink carnations and purple hyacinths, intermingled with baby's breath, white daisies, daffodils, and even the occasional orange-ish surprise lily. The artist in Ginny wanted to throttle the florist who had produced this this she couldn't quite think up a word to fit. The vases that the vibrant bouquets filled were all linked by frilly pink ribbons and bows. Ginny forcibly drew her eyes away from the altar, because just looking at it gave her a headache. They landed on something far worse, however: the groom.

Dudley was standing anxiously at the end of the aisle shifting his massive weight from foot to foot. Clad in a black tuxedo with a cummerbund that was roughly the length of the aisle that led up to him, Dudley seemed to have been squeezed into the suit with reinforced buttons. He was much more horrible than Ginny had imagined.

Harry, who had noticed her look at his cousin, and seen her jaw laughed softly.

"That's Dudley, all right. He hasn't changed a bit. Well, maybe he lost a bit of weight for the wedding." Ginny gaped at him, disbelieving, as an usher in a gray pin-strip suit hurried over to them.

"Bride or groom?" he asked in a squeaky voice.

"Bride." Harry replied, and then whispered to Ginny, "I don't want the Dursleys to see me before the reception. And besides, we're here for moral support."

They followed the usher about two-thirds of the way down the side aisle and he seated them in a pew behind an older man. Harry and Ginny sat down and began to speak in hushed tones again.

"See over there in the first pew?" Harry pointed unobtrusively.

"Mmm-hmm." Ginny bobbed her head.

"That's Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon." 

Ginny followed his gaze to a bony blonde woman, who was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief and sniffling noisily. She was seated next to a beefy man who looked like a slightly (but not much) smaller replica of his son, with a bushy mustache. Petunia Dursley looked like she was on the verge of tears and Vernon had a sort of furious pride on his florid face - at least Ginny thought it was pride. It might have just been that his bulk didn't quite fit into the pew and he seemed rather stuck.

Ginny raised her eyebrows at Harry and they both stifled laughs. The man in front of them turned around at the noise and Ginny was in the middle of apologizing when he smiled at her from behind a pair of spectacles.

"Do not trouble yourself over it, Miss Weasley." Albus Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Professor!" Harry gaped at him.

"Good afternoon, Harry. It's wonderful to see you both."

"You too, Professor." Ginny said, still staring slightly. "It's been too long."

"Er, if I could, sir, what happened to your hair and beard?" Harry asked, tentatively. 

The ordinarily lengthy hair was cropped short in a traditional style and the tip of the beard was a respectable five inches from his chin. 

"They are, er, magically hidden for the day, as I thought I might blend in better this way," he was wearing an old-fashioned three-piece suit with a red bow tie. Harry supposed he hadn't been able to resist.

"You look very authentic, sir." Harry said, smiling. "I'm sure you'll fit in."

"Thank you, Harry." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at the compliment. "And you both look marvelous, may I say. Ginny, I think you do an even better job on muggle gowns than on robes!" he gazed at the navy blue dress, appreciatively.

"Thank you sir, but this particular creation is my assistant Martin's. He's muggle born, and obviously has quite a flare for fashion."

"Indeed."

"The ceremony's starting." Harry broke into their little chat and gestured towards the organ where a woman was beginning to play the wedding march. 

Everyone in the church stood and turned towards the back. First came a small girl, with chestnut curls, in a frilly pink dress who was scattering petals on the aisle, but it seemed she was a tad too enthusiastic because every once in awhile she'd get carried away and fling a handful into the pews. People who were sitting close to the aisle were picking the petals out of their ornate hats and hair-dos. 

Then came Amelia Fletcher.

She was wearing a large white something that stretched tightly across her bosom and had voluminous puffy sleeves. The skirt was obviously held up (and out) by numerous petticoats, or perhaps a very strong freezing charm. It was the same iridescent white fabric as the bodice, but was covered in a lacey over-skirt. Amy's blonde curls were piled high on her head, atop which perched rather precariously, was a small crown. 

They certainly weren't worried about being too gaudy, Ginny noted.

The bride was followed by two women in bridesmaids' dresses of the brightest turquoise, liberally adorned in beads and ruffles. One was very tall, with curly black hair, bony knees and a beaky nose, the other was short and plump, not unlike Amelia herself, with mousy brown hair, chubby cheeks, and exceptionally small ears. They made an interesting pair. 

As the group drew level with the altar, the organist stopped playing and the congregation took their seats. Even from the distance at which they sat, Ginny could see the adoration in Dudley's piggy eyes when he looked at Amy. It was almost sweet. Almost.

* * *

Harry watched Amelia Fletcher walk down the aisle and wondered about the woman who had agreed to marry his cousin. He knew she was a squib, but beyond that, not much. What was she like? Did she know about Dudley's connection to her world? Did Dudley know about hers? And beyond all, what on earth had she been thinking when she said "Yes"?

Amy reached the altar on the arm of her father, and when the vicar asked, "Who gives this woman to be wed?" Godfrey Fletcher replied, though it was visibly causing him some internal struggle, "Her mother and I do." 

He then took his seat next to Miranda Fletcher, who was dabbing at her eyes with a hankie, though much more delicately than Petunia had done. 

Harry supposed he would cry too if his child were marrying a Dudley.

The wedding continued without incident; even the part where the assembled company was told, "If anyone can show just cause why these two people should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your piece."

Harry noticed Mundungus Fletcher bouncing slightly, up in one of the front pews, as though it were physically paining him not to speak up. His wife put a hand on his shoulder, though, and with a tremendous sigh, he slumped back against the pew and the ceremony continued. 

The exchange of vows came soon after, and as everyone watched, Dudley and Amelia professed to love one another unconditionally. Harry had always thought this was one of the most romantic parts of the wedding ceremony, but it seemed to lose something when Dudley was one of the people participating. 

Then came the rings. From his seat, Harry could see Dudley's ring as Amy slid it onto his chubby finger. It was roughly the size of the top of a soda-can. 

Last, of course, was the kiss. Harry looked over at Ginny as Amy wrapped her arms around Dudley's neck (which was the size of a small tree trunk) and kissed him noisily. Ginny wrinkled her nose and made a face. Harry suppressed a snicker. 

Dudley and Amy headed down the aisle and to the street outside amidst a hail of rice. The crowd outside left them a very wide berth and they climbed into the waiting car. Amy went first and was followed by Dudley, who got stuck in the doorway. Harry noticed that more than one spectator in the crowd drew out their wands, himself included, and muttered "Reducto" under their breath. Dudley slid into the car and out of sight. After the happy couple had pulled away, the assembled crowd headed to their respective vehicles. As Harry and Ginny were heading back to the car park, someone tapped Harry on his shoulder. He turned around to see Albus Dumbledore once more in front of him. 

"Hello, Professor." Harry smiled.

"Hello again, Harry. And Ginny," he added, "I take it you are going to the reception?"

"Yes, we are. Do you need a ride?" Ginny jumped in, anticipating the question.

"Indeed I do, if it wouldn't be too much of an imposition. You see, I came by bicycle, but Mundungus suggested to me that perhaps that would not be the best way to arrive at the reception. He seems to think I might get dirt on my suit." He gestured downward at the three-piece garment.

"Of course you can ride with us, Professor." Harry readily agreed. "Where is your bicycle?"

Dumbledore reached into his waistcoat pocket and drew out a tiny model of an old-fashioned bike, complete with a little brass horn and basket.

"I shrank it to ease its transportation," he explained and Harry and Ginny laughed. 

The three wizards piled into the Austin Healey and Harry pulled out onto the street. The ride to the hall where the reception was being held was short, and not wholly unpleasant. Ginny and Professor Dumbledore kept up a running chat on Hogwarts and her design company, Harry throwing in a comment here and there. 

"So, the school is doing well?"

"Indeed!" Dumbledore answered enthusiastically. "There is a lovely group of students this year. Andrea Weasley is doing particularly well in her second year, making Professor Snape pull his hair out, of course, but that's only natural. 

The staff are doing nicely, too. The newer members seem to be fitting in quite well, and the students appreciate the younger teachers, I know."

"That's right! How is Neville doing as Herbology Professor?" Harry piped up.

"Very well, I must say. Professor Sprout was more than happy to retire when she saw in whose hands her precious plants would be left."

"That's great." Ginny said, a smile tugging at her lips. The idea of Neville in charge of a classroom full of students made her want to grin.

Harry pulled into a car park outside the _Little Whinging Banquet Hall_ as the ornate sign read, and the three climbed out. They headed up to the door, which Harry pulled open, standing back to let Ginny and Dumbledore pass. 

"Oh my." Ginny said, quietly, as she shrugged the wrap off her shoulders and handed it to the clerk in the cloakroom. Harry and Dumbledore did the same with their jackets, and then moved over to the entrance to the hall, where Ginny stood.

What exactly merited an "Oh my" became evident immediately. In the center of the hall stood a massive ice-sculpture of Dudley and Amelia.

On either side of the gigantic hunk of ice were two long buffet tables, laden with food. However, it seemed that the aisle for people to walk along was supposed to go between the sculpture itself and each table. This would have been a brilliant plan, had Dudley's ice-bulk not proved so large that it blocked both aisles. The waiters seemed to be attempting to rectify this with numerous hair-dryers. They were melting Dudley. 

Ginny and Harry both held their breath, in an obvious and futile attempt to keep from laughing. 

Dumbledore surveyed the scene, with a twinkle in his eyes. He shook his head and raised an eyebrow. "I think I'll go and say hello to Mundungus, he looks in need of company."

Harry followed his gaze over to the bar, where Mundungus Fletcher was slumped on a stool, morosely watching the waiters vainly attempt to 'shrink' his grandson-in-law's likeness. He downed whatever had been in his glass - neat whiskey, probably - in one gulp and Harry couldn't blame him. 

"Shall we?" Ginny asked, smiling up at him.

"Let's go." Harry linked his arm through hers and they headed into the bustling room. 

The first familiar person Harry spotted was Piers Polkiss, Dudley's long-time best friend from school. He was near the ice sculpture, chatting up the bridesmaid with the dark hair and beaky nose. 

Harry purposely steered Ginny in the opposite direction - right into Jenna Gotheld. 

"Harry! Ginny! I knew I'd be seeing you here!" She beamed at them. "_You_ look fabulous!" she said to Ginny, eyeing the silk gown. Jenna herself didn't look half-bad in a tailored gray shantung suit with a cropped jacket and paisley scarf. It matched her eyes perfectly. 

"You look lovely, too." Ginny smiled at her, and Harry nodded.

"You really do, Jen. Where's Chad?" He asked, craning his neck for a sight of the tanned and weathered South African who was Jenna's boyfriend.

"Oh, he went off to get our drinks, I think." She said, waving a hand, casually. They continued to chat for another minute, until Jenna was whisked away by Eloise Midgeon, and Percy and Penelope came over to Harry and Ginny.

Percy, looking very convincing in a muggle tuxedo, and Penny, looking radiant in a pale yellow cocktail dress, topped by a knee length matching jacket seemed to be enjoying their day off from parenting their four children. 

However, when Ginny brought up the tots, Percy seemed even more proud, if possible.

"Oh Noah's doing wonderfully!" he gushed. "Yesterday he threw a handful of mushy peas at Devon and hit him right in the eye - I think he's destined to be a chaser."

Penny rolled her eyes heavenward as Harry and Ginny both suppressed laughs.

"This coming from the man who didn't have to clean Devon up!" she said.

Everyone laughed. 

Soon they all took their seats and waiters began to come to the tables. Apparently they had given up on melting enough of Dudley to clear a path to the food. There had been a not-wholly-unfounded fear of flooding.

Ginny looked up as a young, pimply man waited anxiously at her elbow, before realizing that she didn't have a menu.

"Oh!" he said anxiously. "Would you like the Roast beef with boiled potatoes, and mixed veg? Or the fish and chips?"

Ginny exchanged a bemused look with Harry as they said in unison, "Roast beef, please."

Fish and chips at a wedding? Only at Dudley's!

After the waiter had taken everybody else's orders and hurried off to collect their food, Ginny looked around at the assembled company and smiled. She knew most of them, at least as acquaintances. On her left sat Harry, and on his left, in turn, were Percy and Penny. Penny was seated next to an elderly witch with wispy gray hair, whom Ginny recognized as Arabella Figg. On Mrs. Figg's other side was a middle-aged couple who introduced themselves as Amelia's godparents; Bertie and Betty Bott, heirs to the 'Every Flavor Bean' fortune.

A girl who looked only about eighteen or nineteen occupied the last seat, between Harry and Betty. She had long white-blond hair and reminded Ginny so forcibly of seventeen-year-old Fleur Delacour it was uncanny. The girl kept smiling shyly at Harry, who looked quite perplexed, as though he had seen her somewhere before, but couldn't place her. Percy and Penelope obviously knew the girl from the way Penny kept smiling gently at her, and Percy kept smiling stupidly across the table. 

"Everyone," he said, pompously, addressing the table, "Allow me to introduce Gabrielle Delacour, our new Assistant Minister for the Council on the Dark Arts." The girl blushed furiously, and a look of comprehension dawned on both Ginny and Harry's faces - the little girl from the second task! 

Ginny gaped at her brother - she was practically a child, what was he thinking?

Percy seemed to read the look on Ginny's face and elaborated, "Though Miss Delacour is quite young, just twenty, she has shown incredible aptitude in Defense Against the Dark Arts. There is quite a family history of it; her older sister, Fleur, is the Defense Professor at their alma mater, the prestigious Beauxbatons Academy. Miss Delacour graduated with honors and went on to become a trained auror in the French system, but decided her work would be better used here." At this point Penny laid a hand on Percy's arm to quiet him. Gabrielle was trying to speak.

"I zought zat I would be more use-e-ful here, becauze I am more able in ze strategy zan in ze field." She said in heavily accented English. "In my work in France I deed well, but not so well as I 'ope to do 'ere." The assembled company was nodding, appreciatively, and Percy was positively beaming. Penny smiled warmly and said, "Gabrielle has been staying with us until she can find a flat near the Ministry. She doesn't have a British Apparition license yet. Mundungus Fletcher has been looking around. Of course, since he is the Minister for the Council on the Dark Arts, Gabrielle will be working directly under him and he was kind enough to have her to the wedding so she could meet some other important wizards."

"Meester Fletcher 'as been most kind in fitting me into his beezy schedule." Gabrielle agreed.

At that moment someone at the head table stood up, and raised his glass, tapping it with a spoon. It was Piers Polkiss, and Harry realized he must be the best man.

"A toast!" Piers called out, in the same noxious voice Harry remembered from his childhood (puberty hadn't done much for Piers), "To the bride and groom," The room quieted. "Dudley, I've known you for as long as I can remember, and we've had a lot of fun over the years. When we both went to Smeltings together, I remember talking in our room at night about what kind of women we'd marry-" Harry thought it was a bit rich of them to assume anyone would agree to marry them. "and you always described someone a lot like Amelia. It's great that you found her." Dudley gave a watery smile as Amelia beamed at Piers.

"That was almost sweet, really." Ginny whispered to Harry as Piers turned turned to Amy. 

"Amelia, Dudley's finally found a good woman. Take care of him, and keep him well fed."

"So much for sweet." Harry whispered.

"Try chauvinistic." Ginny murmured back.

"That's Piers." Harry suppressed a smile. 

Soon their food arrived and further discussion of the toast was pre-empted by the moues of distaste on every mouth. 

Only Bertie Bott had opted for the fish and chips; everyone else had ordered the beef. However, at least Bertie's dinner, unorthodox as it was, was recognizable. In a neat little basket, filled with chips (French fries - for those of you who don't know) sat four strips of fried plaice.

Ginny poked at the large grayish lump on her plate with her fork once or twice, and then gave up all pretence of trying to eat it. She moved on to the heap of rubbery vegetables, which sat next to a small, mountain of boiled potatoes and began to chew a boiled carrot.

Harry however, the true adventurer, took his knife and cut a miniscule bit of meat (if that's even what it was) off the end of his own lump. He popped it into his mouth and then began to chew, slowly at first, and then more rapidly. After about a full minute he finally swallowed. 

His only comment was, " Don't try the meat." Everyone laughed.

After a fairly sparse dinner, which was quite amazing considering the size of the portions, a dance floor in the middle of the room was cleared and Dudley and Amelia stood up as lights hit the dance floor. Harry turned around, looking for a band or whoever was to be providing the music. He spotted a DJ sitting in a corner behind large amplifiers. Nearby stood Mad-Eye Moody, wearing a regular dress shirt and jacket that matched his pinstriped trousers- apparently Mundungus had insisted he lose the sweatshirt. Near Moody stood Mundungus himself, and Harry could have sworn he saw Mad-Eye wink (with his normal eye) at Fletcher. He shook his head and turned back to the floor. The music had started now, it had quite a catchy beat, and Harry found himself tapping his foot. It sounded _familiar_

The song didn't seem familiar to Dudley, at all, though. He looked quite puzzled, but his new wife took his hands firmly, placed one around her waist, and pulled him into the dance, whispering something in his ear. Then the lyrics started:

__

Do you believe in magic in a young girl's heart?

Harry looked at Ginny, Ginny looked at Harry, and they both turned back to the DJ's station where the poor young man looked utterly perplexed and Ginny spotted Mad-Eye Moody giving Mundungus Fletcher a high-five.

__

How the music can free her, whenever it starts

And it's magic, if the music is groovy

It makes you feel happy like an old-time movie

I'll tell you about the magic, and it'll free your soul

But it's like trying to tell a stranger 'bout rock and roll

Harry had turned back to the dance floor, and it was obvious that Dudley knew something was wrong, now, but Amelia, wouldn't let him stop dancing. She kept shooting venomous glares at the DJ but managed to keep dancing.

Vernon and Petunia Dursley on the other hand, were on the side of the dance floor in varying degrees of rage. Petunia kept mouthing soundlessly like a goldfish, as though words couldn't express her fury at whoever had ruined her Duddykin's dance, while a vein in Vernon's neck throbbed dangerously - he looked as though he might have a fit.

Harry turned to Ginny and grinned. 

"Want to dance?" 

__

If you believe in magic don't bother to choose

If it's jug band music or rhythm and blues

Just go and listen it'll start with a smile

It won't wipe off your face no matter how hard you try

Your feet start tapping and you can't seem to find

How you got there, so just blow your mind

If you believe in magic, come along with me

We'll dance until morning 'til there's just you and me

And maybe, if the music is right

I'll meet you tomorrow, sort of late at night

And we'll go dancing, baby then you'll see

How the magic's in the music and the music's in me

Yeah, do you believe in magic

Yeah, believe in the magic of a young girl's soul

Believe in the magic of rock and roll

Believe in the magic that can set you free

Ohh, talking 'bout magic

Do you believe like I believe Do you believe in magic

Do you believe like I believe Do you believe, believer

Do you believe like I believe Do you believe in magic

Finally, at the end of the song, Vernon seemed to find his voice. 

"NO!" He shouted, sounding much like a wounded water buffalo. Several people looked up, startled.

"No what?" Ginny asked, from their spot on the dance floor. 

"No, he doesn't believe in magic." Harry explained, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Or doesn't want to."

She took a slight step behind Harry. In her opinion Vernon Dursley seemed quite deranged.

* * *

After the "first dance fiasco", Mad-Eye and Mundungus were kept well away from the disc jockey's station, and the rest of the dancing wasn't nearly as interesting. Harry and Ginny did a waltz, sat out a polka, and got up again for a slower song that Ginny said she liked. In the middle of the song, Percy and Penny danced their way over to them, and Percy asked politely, "Mind if I cut in?"

So Harry and Penny danced off, chatting about her four children.

"Molly loves school. She's at Miss Inglewood's Magical Preparatory School, and she comes home with all sorts of, er, interesting ideas. For instance yesterday she suggested that I try bathing Devon in frog spawn and then he might stop being so "toady". Her word, not mine. He's just started in kindergarten, and will go to Miss Inglewood's next year - the poor woman doesn't know what she's in for." 

Harry chuckled. "How are Claire and Noah?"

"Just fine - it's really nice to be home with just the two of them. Or it was until Noah reached his second birthday and the terrible two's commenced. You'd think that I'd be used to them by now, but no - he always finds some way to surprise me." 

Harry laughed again. "Ginny mentioned that you and the kids were going to the Burrow while Percy goes to Serbia and Croatia?"

"Yes, next week in fact. It's been awhile since we've seen Arthur and Molly, and the kids have been asking after them - not to mention Molly. I must get an owl twice a week from her asking when we're going to bring them down for a visit. I won't deny I'm looking forward to a bit of rest, though. Cornwall sounds like absolute heaven next to helping organize the Ministry's Christmas ball. Of course, I'll have to do some work on the ball while I'm there, because it will be practically upon us by the time I get back. We're just staying for the week. How's work going for you?"

"As well as ever I guess," Harry said, "It drives me nuts most of the time, but I love it, I really do."

"No thoughts of going back to Quidditch before the Cup, eh?" Penny teased.

"Nope," Harry grinned, "Though I've heard pretty much every possible rumor about that."

"Have you seen the new Seeker?" Penny asked.

"No, but I promised Guy that I'd have a look at his style, see if I can be of any help, offer any tips." 

Guy Cramden was a Chaser and captain of England's Quidditch team.

"That's good." Penny said, as the song faded out, and she headed off to find Percy.

"Thanks for the dance." Harry called after her before he turned and went back to their table, where Ginny was massaging her feet.

"Nice dance?" He asked, plopping down into the chair next to her.

"Thrilling," Ginny said, sarcastically. "You know my brother. I love him dearly, but-"

"But," Harry agreed nodding. "Penny was updating me on the kids."

"Really? How are they?"

And Harry told her everything he'd learned. When he was through, Ginny smiled.

"They're so sweet, those kids." 

"Yeah, they are." Harry agreed. 

Then the old Muggle song, "Blue Moon" came on, and Ginny pulled her shoes back on. 

"Let's dance! I love this song," She pulled Harry out onto the dance floor where Jenna and Chad, Penny and Percy, and countless other couples were already moving in time to the music. Harry spotted Piers Polkiss dancing with the tall bony bridesmaid who he'd been chatting up earlier. Amelia was dancing with her grandfather and as Harry and Ginny danced past, Mundungus reached out and tapped Harry's arm.

"Harry! I don't think you've danced with the bride yet?"

"Er, no. I haven't," Harry admitted. 

Ginny greeted Amelia cordially, if a bit coolly. "Congratulations, Amy," She said.

"Ginny! I didn't know you were coming," Amelia said, with false cheer, as Harry and Mundungus switched places. 

Ginny called back, "I'm Harry's date." And both couples were swept away by the music and the crowd.

Finally, after several moments of awkward silence, Harry said, "Congratulations on your marriage Mrs. Dursley. I'm - "

"I know who you are," Amy said pointedly. "I can only assume that my grandfather invited you to torture me, somehow."

Harry thought that was a bit harsh, but he let it roll off his back. "Oh, I doubt it - he probably did it to torture my cousin, and aunt and uncle." He said, only half-joking.

"Do they know you're here?"

"Haven't seen anything blow up yet have you? Including Uncle Vernon," Harry replied mildly, but there was a new edge to his tone. He was beginning to see why exactly Dudley and Amelia had married.

She pursed her lips, but did not comment. Suddenly her blue-gray eyes grew wide.

"What?" Harry asked, still dancing.

"Dance away, dance away!" she hissed through gritted teeth. But it was too late.

Someone tapped Harry on the shoulder and he heard a familiar voice say, "Can I cut in?"

Amelia tried valiantly to step on Harry's foot to stop him turning around, but to no avail. He had already turned, and her foot landed hard on the wooden floor, snapping off the high-heel of her shoe. No one noticed, however, due to the scene unfolding before her.

Harry stood calmly surveying his cousin.

"By all means, Dudley. After all, she is your wife."

Dudley however, gaped at Harry unflatteringly.

"Y- you!" he spat out, as though he'd just eaten something nasty. (Probably the beef, Harry thought.)

"Me," Harry replied, without missing a beat.

"What are you _doing _here? You weren't invited!"

"Duddy? Duddy darling" a simpering voice came from behind Harry. Amy seemed to be trying to get her husband's attention.

"I most certainly was," Harry said, ignoring Amelia.

"No. You. Weren't!" Dudley raged. "Who would invite _you_?"

"Dudley!" Amy cried shrilly, getting visibly upset.

Then it hit Harry. Dudley didn't _know_. He didn't know Amy was a squib. He didn't even know what a squib was. He thought he was marrying a perfectly normal muggle.

They were beginning to gather a crowd. The other couples on the dance floor had stopped dancing, and Harry could see them standing around in various states of poorly disguised curiosity. Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Ginny come up to them, and felt her hand press gently on his shoulder. 

Amelia had darted out of Harry's shadow and was now hanging on Dudley's shoulder, trying to drag him away from the confrontation. Of course this was futile, as Dudley was at least four times as large as she was, but she seemed quite determined, nonetheless.

Just as Ginny had popped up at Harry's side, so had Mundungus Fletcher and Mad-Eye Moody. On the other hand, Vernon and Petunia Dursley had materialized behind their son and they didn't look pleased.

The vein in Vernon's neck was going at an unbelievable pace now, and Harry thought it quite amazing that he hadn't give himself an aneurysm. Petunia was eyeing her nephew with pronounced distaste. 

"Dudley -" Amelia began, but Mundungus cut her off.

"I invited him. I'm sorry, Amy, but I won't pretend to be something I'm not anymore." With that, he took out a slim stick from his coat pocket - his wand. 

He waved it once and immediately his pressed tuxedo was changed into formal black dress robes. 

Around the room Harry could see many wizards and witches doing the same and confused Muggles backing away from them, scared. Amy groaned, Petunia gasped saying, "She's one of _them_!", and Vernon, apparently his blood pressure finally getting to him, fainted. Then a look of deadly determination set on Amy's face and Harry could tell she was getting ready to do something drastic.

"Dudley - I love you. I always loved you. I hate what I am - help me escape it!" Amelia held her arms out to him, pleading. It was rather like a bad soap opera.

Dudley looked from his wife, to his cousin, to his wheezing mother, to the fallen form of his father, then back at his wife. 

"You- you really love me?" He asked, and Harry suspected she might be the only girl to ever tell him that. He wouldn't be surprised.

Amy nodded, her eyes watery. 

Slowly Dudley reached a pudgy arm out and took her outstretched hand. Then, stepping over Vernon, they took off running (or in Dudley's case waddling) to the entrance of the hall. Amy grabbed her dress in one hand and broke into a sprint, and Dudley, in his haste to keep up with her, hitched up the trousers to his tuxedo. Unfortunately he wasn't watching where he was going and smacked right into the four-tiered wedding cake, sending it crashing to the ground. Dudley crouched, grabbed the top tier, and hurried out the door amid peals of laughter.

* * *

When they returned to her apartment, much later that evening, Ginny was still given to occasional fits of giggles as she thought about the wedding.

"And when he knocked over the cake-" she dissolved into laughter and collapsed onto her couch.

Harry, laughing too, flopped down beside her and threw an arm around her shoulder.

"Well, like I said: that's Dudley!"


	4. When In Wales

__

Note (3/18) - For those of you who read the version of this I uploaded yesterday - I'm so sorry! It was full of typos that were pointed out to me by Ruby (thanks!). I'd just like to explain that this was in no way the fault of my beta-readers. Basically what happened is that they each send me a copy of the edited chapter back and it's up to me to reconcile both their comments into one document to be uploaded. Due to the version of microsoft word that they use to edit, sometimes the changes don't show up in the regular document until it's saved in html - thereby creating the problems you saw. I've gone through and fixed them. Like I said, I'm very sorry and I'll try not to let it happen again!

~ ~ ~

A/N: Well, well, well - here we are again. I know this chapter has taken an incredibly long time to post and I heartily apologize. J I could spin you tales of woe, homework, and writer's block but that would just postpone the fic even longer! I just want to mention a couple things before you read on - 1) I know that there's not very much action in this chapter, but it is leading up to something - I promise! 2) The next chapters should come out more quickly, since I sat down and planned them out - I know where I'm going: yes! 

Special thanks go to Al and Wotan, as always, my wonderful beta-readers who are absolutely invaluable. 

__

Disclaimer: Well, let's see here now - I may have forgotten how to do this No, wait! Ah yes - the plot and various original characters are mine; all HP characters, ideas, and places belong to the wonderful J.K. Rowling; and Wotan tells me that Disney can be a bit law-suit happy, so please let my make this clear: I DO NOT OWN MICKEY MOUSE, EURO-DISNEY or any associated logos; nor am I Mickey Mouse - just to clarify. J I think that's about it. And without further ado

The Dancing Days - Chapter 4

A fanfiction by Anne

Ron and Hermione pulled into her Aunt Lorraine and Uncle Herbert's drive at five minutes to seven on Sunday evening. They parked behind the Granger's car and climbed out. 

"Now remember, we mustn't do or say anything tonight that lets on that we're wizards. Lila, Aunt Lorraine, and Uncle Herbert know, but David hasn't the foggiest - as far as he's concerned, I work for _The Guardian _and you are a Detective Sergeant at Scotland Yard, "Hermione reminded Ron for the thousandth time.

"I know, 'Mione," Ron moaned exasperatedly. 

"Just making sure," she grinned up at him and pecked him on the lips quickly. Then they both turned and walked up the path to the front door. Ron rang the bell and within moments it was opened by a short, skinny woman who looked as though she might topple over from the weight of the blonde beehive perched precariously on her head.

"Hermione, dearest! And Ronald! It's been so long since we've seen you!" Lorraine Granger gushed as she embraced her niece. Hermione, being a good deal taller than her aunt had her head thrust unpleasantly into the mass of blond hair during the hug and got a nose-full of the overwhelming odor of hairspray. 

Ron bent down and Lorraine on the cheek as Hermione said, "Yes, it has been too long, Aunt Lorraine. I don't think we've visited since just after the wedding. And I haven't seen Lila in nearly as long as that - how is she?"

"Well, see for yourself dear - she and David are just inside with your parents and Herbert," She ushered them through to the living room where five people were seated on sofas and chairs.

"Hermione! Ron!" Mrs. Granger stood up first and embraced her daughter and son-in-law in turn. 

"Hello, Mum, Dad," Hermione greeted as her mother kissed her. 

After Hermione had kissed her father and Uncle Herbert on the cheeks and Ron had shaken their hands, they both turned to Lila who was standing next to a fairly tall man, though not so tall as Ron, with mahogany hair and chocolate colored eyes. 

"Hermione, Ron," Lila began, after hugging them both, "this is David Englethorp. David, this is my cousin Hermione Granger and her husband, Ron Weasley." 

After hands were shaken and acquaintances made they all sat down and resumed their conversation on the latest scandal, over an MP (*Member of Parliament) and a 'call-girl' in the news. Lorraine excused herself to finish preparing the dinner and Lila and Hermione both offered to help, but she shooed them back into their chairs. Hermione refocused her attention on what was being said as Mr. Granger commented, "Well, that girl had the best teeth I've ever seen on a prostitute," and his wife said jokingly, "And just how many prostitute's' teeth have you looked at, dear?"

*

Later, they moved into the dining-room and began eating. Hermione had speared a piece of salmon on her fork and was guiding it towards her mouth, when her aunt said, "David, why don't you tell Hermione and Ron what you do."

David laid down his own fork on his plate and said, "Well, it's really not that interesting, Mrs. G.,."

"Nonsense. I think it's perfectly fascinating," Lorraine said firmly.

Hermione chipped in, "Yes, we'd love to hear about it, David."

"Alright then," he conceded, "Essentially I run a property firm. We deal mostly with large corporations looking to relocate, but occasionally we take on a regular client or two. Basically, the large businesses have an idea of what area they want to relocate to, for tax reasons usually, and we travel to the area and scope out prospective properties for them. Once we've narrowed it down to a few viable choices, the company sends someone in to choose and then we take care of the business end with the former owner. It's quite simple, really."

Ron smiled easily, "It certainly sounds complicated."

David returned the smile, "Well, it's easier to do than to explain. Now, what is it that you two do again?"

"I'm a Detective at Scotland Yard," Ron replied.

"And I'm a reporter for _The Guardian_," Hermione said.

"Those both must be very exciting," David commented.

"Oh, not so much as you might think," Ron said, steering him away from the topic. "More paperwork than anything else."

"How is university going, Lila?" Hermione asked, changing the subject hurriedly.

"Really well, thanks,." Lila answered, her eyes bright,. "By the end of this year I'll have my degree in computer technology."

"Now that's a fascinating field," Hermione's mother said from the end of the table.

* * *

Later that evening Ron and Hermione pulled back out of the Granger's driveway and headed home. 

"So, what did you think?" Hermione asked, as they zoomed through the countryside, heading back into London.

"Of David?" Ron asked.

"Um-hmm.," She nodded.

"I thought he seemed a decent enough bloke. If Lila likes him that's all that matters, right?"

"Right. Aunt Lorraine certainly seems to love him," Hermione mused.

"Your Aunt Lorraine would love any man Lila brought through her door.," Ron said, a smile turning up the corners of his lips.

"I know," Hermione said, "that's what I'm afraid of."

* *The Next Day* *

Molly Weasley bustled around her living room, plumping cushions here, straightening a picture frame there. She wanted everything to be perfect when Penny and the kids arrived, though from her experience with her own seven children, she knew it wouldn't stay that way for long. 

"Where do you want this bed, Molly?" Arthur called from the hallway. 

The sound of a heavy object knocking into the wall reverberated through the house and the ghoul in the attic began to howl.

"Arthur! You stop levitating that bed this instant! It'll ruin the walls!" There was a thud from the hall and Molly could hear her husband muttering under his breath as he dragged it past the entrance to the living room.

"Can't see why should have just conjured one No need to get this out of storage"

"Because it was Percy's. I want Devon to be able to sleep in the bed Percy grew up in," Molly snapped, a bit peevishly. "And put it back in Percy's room. Little Noah will sleep with Penny in Ginny's room and the girls can have Fred and George's." 

"I'm going, I'm going!" Arthur said, holding up his hands in mock surrender and inadvertently dropping the bed on his foot.

"Ouch!" He yelped in surprise, as Molly quickly levitated the bed an inch or two above the floor so he could rescue his aching toes.

"Now who's levitating what?" Arthur asked with a mischievous grin.

"Oh shut it," Molly said, dropping the bed with a swift wave of her wand and stalking back into the living room in a huff.

Arthur smiled to himself and rubbed his injured foot a few times before going back to work on the bed.

Less than half an hour later he had shoved it into place in Percy's room with a grunt and collapsed on top of it for a rest. It felt like he'd been down for less than a minute when Arthur heard the familiar chime of the doorbell downstairs and Molly's hurried footsteps.

"Arthur! Hurry up - they're here!" She called as she passed the bottom of the stairs. Arthur heaved himself into a sitting position and then, getting to his feet, headed downstairs. 

In the front hallway, Molly was standing before an open door embracing a curly-haired woman and four children all at once. 

"Molly! Don't hog them all to yourself - I want to welcome my beautiful daughter-in-law and gorgeous grandchildren, too!" Arthur said from behind her. 

The two women laughed and Penny said, "It's great to see you Arthur," and enveloped him in a hug. 

Meanwhile, Molly had scooped up Claire and little Noah in her arms and was leading Devon and Molly through to the kitchen, saying, "Come along now, I've been baking biscuits for you all morning!" 

At the word 'biscuits' Devon took off like a shot and raced ahead of his siblings and grandmother while Penny and Arthur laughed.

Once they were all seated around the kitchen table and the children had been settled down with biscuits and milk, Penny told them about their trip.

"Well, Percy left this morning in a terrible state. Apparently the Serbian minister sent a rude owl to the Croatian minister and now the Croatians are Croatia was threatening to attack," She shook her head. "Hopefully they'll be able to reach some sort of compromise soon

And then I had a meeting this morning with the head of the board in charge of the Ministry's Christmas ball - there was a complete fiasco with the caterer we arranged and the man apparently can't simply hire another one without meeting with me personally, first. Sometimes I wonder how he manages to get out of the house in the morning without anyone else's help!" Molly and Arthur laughed. "So, how have you two been?" Penny asked, settling back into her chair.

"Well, we're doing just fine, dear. It's been quiet here - no international incidences incidents to speak of - " Molly smiled, "but on the whole, very pleasant. I keep busy with my gardening and cooking and weekly knitting group and Arthur is always 'improving' some Muggle object. You should see the state of the shed!" 

Arthur laughed good-naturedly.

"Yes, we do keep busy. Wish we saw all you kids more often, of course, but it's hard to find the time. Ginny did stop by a couple of weeks ago on her way home from France for a holiday. She stayed the night and that was lovely - she also mentioned that if Harry could get time off they might pop down for a visit. We barely ever see the two of them; I can't think the last time Harry managed to get a weekend off - and Ron's just as bad. You're all workaholics, but I suppose we were just as bad when we were young!" 

Penny laughed. 

"Oh you two aren't as old as all that!"

"You're too kind dear." Molly said smiling at her daughter-in-law. "Of course we do miss seeing the children often," She patted Claire, who was slurping happily on a spill-proof glass full of milk, fondly on the head. "They're so precious and they grow up so quickly!" She looked wistful.

"Don't I know it!" Penelope said, "It seems every time I've just bought one of them a new pair of shoes, someone else has outgrown theirs!" She ruffled Devon's hair as he zoomed his biscuit through the air making airplane noises.

"Is that a Muggle plane, Devon?" His grandfather asked, a tad hopefully.

"Nope," Devon replied, biting off a chunk. "It's the flying car Uncle Ron and Uncle Harry crashed!" The biscuit went clattering to the table - he seemed perfectly delighted.

* * *

Ginny Weasley sat cross-legged on her sofa, a sketch pad propped on her knees, as soft mid-morning light filtered through the windows of her living room. She gazed around her little flat appreciatively - it was quite homey - for a home that wasn't often used.

As her quill scratched across the parchment surface, Ginny noticed a large shadow obscuring her light and looked up to see what it was. There was a large barn owl hovering outside her window and Ginny hurried to let it inside. After untying the note from the owl's leg Ginny tossed the fragment of parchment into the dustbin and shook her head. The owl was from Thérèse who said that they had a new client who was looking for a whole line of business-like suit/robes for her new job - something diplomatic. Ginny had to come back to Paris as soon as possible.

As much as she would have loved to stay in London forever, duty - and, more importantly, work - called and Ginny had to answer. She scribbled a hurried note to Harry and sent it off with Atalanta, her owl - Attie for short, grabbed her sketch pad, portfolio and handbag and Disapparated.

* * *

Penelope let out a sigh as she leaned against the trunk of a beech tree on the outskirts of the little paddock near the Burrow. Molly and Devon were playing on their uncles' old brooms and Claire and Noah were playing on a blanket next to where Penny sat. Molly tumbled off her broom onto the soft turf shouting, "Foul! Foul! Devon, that was a foul!" 

It was lucky the brooms were so old and wouldn't carry them much higher than six feet or so above the ground, because Molly was relatively unharmed and bounced back up. She grabbed her fallen broomstick and took off after her brother who was calling, "It was not! Can't catch me!"

Penny laughed at their antics and turned her attention to her other two children. Noah, apparently exhausted simply from watching his older brother and sister play, was snoozing peacefully on the blanket as Claire tried to tie his short blond curls into bows.

"Claire!" Penny called to her youngest daughter in a half-hearted admonishment.

Claire looked up innocently, her small hand clutched around a fistful of blond ringlets. Penny scooted over and gently detached her daughter's hand from her son's hair, but as she did so, Noah woke with a start. He looked at his mother and sister leaning over him in surprise and then gave a cry. 

"Shhh, Noah. Shhhh.," Penny picked him up and rocked him against her chest soothingly. Within seconds he had fallen back asleep, his face burrowed into his mother's neck. Claire looked slightly disappointed as she returned to the blanket, her game now over. 

Her attention was soon diverted, however, by an approaching owl. 

"Look Mummy! Owl!" She said, pointing gleefully into the chilly wind. Penny stood up, noticing for the first time how cool it was as the screech owl went flapping past her off in the direction of the Burrow. She followed it with her gaze for a few moments, before turning back to her children. 

"Molly! Devon!" She called up at the two, "Come down, now, we're going back to the house." 

Though Molly pouted and Devon sulked, Penny managed to cajole them back down to earth and she herded them and Claire and Noah back down to the Burrow. 

They went in through the kitchen door into the cozy kitchen, a crackling fire in the hearth, and found Molly seated at the table, reading a letter, the screech owl hooting happily on the edge of the counter. 

"Is it news from Percy?" Penny asked, stripping the children of their outdoor garments before she sat down across from her mother-in-law.

"No," Molly shook her head, "It's from Ginny. Here, you can read it if you like." She held out the parchment.

__

Dear Mum and Dad,

Hi! I'm just writing to tell you both that I've been called back to Paris urgently. Someone put in a huge order for business robes - just became an ambassador to South Africa or something - and I need to consult with her on the designs. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone, but I thought you'd like to know all the same. Hope you're both doing well - love to Penny and the kids if they're there.

All my love,

Ginny

Penny set the letter on the table and looked up. 

"So Ginny's back in France now?"

"It certainly seems that way," Molly nodded, getting to her feet and putting the kettle on for a cup of tea. "Would you-?" She left the query unfinished, holding up a second cup in question to Penny, who nodded in assent, rubbing her chafed hands together. 

"Yes, thanks," She smiled. "This is quite a cozy spot for a cup of tea, don't you think?"

"Yes, I love sitting in here", Molly agreed, sitting down and waiting for the kettle to whistle. "Many an hour I've whiled away in here since all the children have left. It gets quite lonely sometimes. It seems like just yesterday Ginny was only starting Hogwarts"

* * *

At that same moment, Ginny herself was trudging through very damp Paris streets - having been quite preoccupied when she Disapparated, she had appeared five streets west of where she wanted to be and didn't feel up to trying it again.

She hitched up her bag on her shoulder and headed up the cobbled street, drinking in observing the atmosphere the atmosphere in the Montmartre street near her Paris office. There were the typical street artists - all of them painting a variety of people. Ginny spotted one particularly awful American couple wearing Mickey-Mouse ears from Euro-Disney in their portrait. She moved along, passing a young guitarist leaning against the side of a building. He was strumming and singing a Muggle song she'd heard before.

__

"it's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right. I hope you have the time of your life."

He looked up, saw her passing and shoved a hat jingling with loose change towards her, saying in a heavy East-End accent, "Give us a franc or two, love. I'm just trying to get meself back to London." 

"Funny. Me too." Ginny said, glancing up at him and dropping a fifty pence piece in the hat. She continued on her way as the boy began to sing once more.

When Ginny finally did arrive at her office she was quite wet and cold, not to mention none too happy at being called back on such short notice. She kicked open the door with her foot and, precariously managing her bag and portfolio, she backed through it. 

"Vergeenia? Ees that you?" came a heavily accented voice from the next room.

"_C'est moi, Thérèse_," Ginny called back, entering the room and dropping her bags with a thud. 

"What's with the English?" She asked as she collapsed into a chair.

"I 'ave been asking myself zat for zee longest time." Gilbert Voizin, one of Ginny's distribution agents, said as he entered the room. 

"Gilbert!" Ginny threw a quill at him. "I meant why are you speaking English, Thérèse?"

"I am practeesing for when I travel to Eengland."

"You 'ave a trip planned?" Gilbert asked.

"Not yet. Sometime soon I 'ope."

"You'll have to come visit me, Thérèse. You can meet Harry and my family," Ginny suggested.

"Ah! I remember some'sing now! A letter from 'Arry arrived for you. I have eet somewhere-" She shuffled through the papers on her desk and then picked one up. "'Ere eet ees!" She handed it over to Ginny who tore open the envelope and pulled out the sheet of parchment.

__

Gin,

Hey! What's up with you running off every minute I turn my back? I know Dudley's wedding was scary, but come on - you were warned about my relatives! Anyway, come home as soon as you can - I may be able to get some time off in a week or so and I don't want to spend it on my own. Write back soon. 

Love, 

Harry

Ginny grinned as she looked up from the parchment and noticed Gilbert and Thérèse reading over her shoulder. Gilbert was smirking and Thérèse seemed a bit confused.

"What ees a Dud-ley?" She asked, looking perplexed. Ginny and Gilbert both laughed.

"Sale cochon." Ginny answered, smiling mischievously as she pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment to reply to Harry. 

Gilbert laughed even harder.

Ginny plucked a quill from the desk beside her and began to write:

__

Dear Harry

Well haven't you figured it out yet? I'm playing hard to get! Not really of course, but shall we pretend that until we can both escape our jobs for a well-deserved weekend off? Preferably at the same time! When are you taking your leave? I'll see if I can arrange to pop home for a weekend or so then - we can go down to the coast or something. I'd better go now; Gilbert is smirking over my shoulder and Thérèse is babbling on about me having to meet my 10 o'clock appointment at the at the Centre Pompidou ten minutes ago. Must dash - 'till later, then!

~Gin

She folded the letter quickly and handed it to Thérèse saying, "See this gets owled, would you?" and hurried out of the room, grabbing her cloak as she went.

Ginny was dashing down an alleyway on her way out of Montmartre when she remembered precisely what she was and Disapparated on the spot. Had she had more time, or been more self conscious, she might have noticed the double takes of the two schoolboys on their bicycles. 

She couldn't help but notice the strange glances she got when from bystanders when she appeared out of thin air next to the fountain outside the Centre Georges Pompidou. A woman of about thirty-five was waving at her from behind a pair of mimes. Ginny jogged over to her and extended her hand saying, "_Pardon. Je suis desolée pour être en retard. Je m'appelle Virginia Weasley_." 

"_De rien_," The woman replied, shaking Ginny's hand. "_Je m'appelle Andréa Vorschev_." 

* * *

"Ron!" called Jake Winston called as he entered his boss's office in the M.L.E.S. Headquarters, "Johnson wants to see you in her office."

"Thanks, Jake," Ron called back as he got to his feet, shifting some of the papers on his cluttered desk in the process. He strode out of his own office and climbed the stairs to Angelina's, two floors above. 

"You wanted to see me, Angelina?" He said, poking his fiery topped head around her door. She seemed to be berating someone on her grammaphone, but motioned for him to have a seat.

"And I haven't got the time to be left on hold for twenty odd minutes! I'm really very busy and if you call me so that your superior can speak to me, then he damn well better be ready to speak to me!" She finished loudly, then, "Hmmph. I thought so." She hung up so forcibly that it sent a flurry of papers to the ground, and turned to Ron.

"What's up?" Ron asked, mildly, surveying the papers.

"What isn't?" Angelina said, looking quite harassed a leaning back in her chair.

"I meant why did you call me?" Ron clarified, suppressing a smile.

"Oh. Right. Well, there's been a spot of trouble in Wales - that was the secretary of the head of the Welsh M.L.E.S. on the grammaphone - there are a lot of illegal wands on the black market there and we've no idea how they're entering the country. I owled the Cardiff HQ to let them know I'd send your squad along first thing tomorrow." 

"Alright. Who's our liaison?" 

"Well, that's the thing -" Angelina paused, "You haven't exactly got one. Wales has tried to crack this one on their own and haven't been able to so they turned it over to us, lock stock, and barrel. Their HQ will cooperate with you of course, and give you the use of any facilities you might need, but they won't spend anymore manpower on it. Do you think you lot can manage it?"

"Sure," Ron said, taking mental notes, "it'll be tougher without an informant, but certainly not impossible. When did you say we're due in Cardiff?"

"First thing tomorrow morning. Tell De, Jake and Alex to get their stuff together and be ready to fly down in the morning."

"You want us to fly?"

"Well, it's quicker than the train and less risky than appariation, but it's up to you. Why - do want to take something else?"

"I may ride my bike," Ron replied, referring to his old motorbike that he had refurbished the summer he had been sixteen. Sirius had been more than happy to share his expertise in that area. "And the others can fly. That way, once we get there we'll have some way to get around that doesn't require cloud cover. Just in case."

"Good point," Angelina nodded. "Okay then, good luck. I'll expect daily reports back from you."

"But probably won't get them," Ron finished with a grin - it was a long-standing joke between the two of them. 

She sighed.

"Right. Bye."

"Bye," Ron echoed as he pulled her door shut behind him.

* * *

Early the next morning, before the sun had quite risen, Ron gathered his 'in the field' gear into a pack and firmly strapped it onto the back of the motorbike. He had arranged to meet Delia, Jake, and Alex outside the Leaky Cauldron (the Diagon Alley side) before departing. They would all be using broomsticks and would undoubtedly arrive in Cardiff a good deal before he would, as his bike unfortunately couldn't fly. (Mrs. Weasley had threatened Sirius with all sorts of bodily harm had he enchanted it for Ron that summer.) Ron kicked the stand out from under it and headed off in a small cloud of smoke.

When he arrived at the Leaky Cauldron Delia was already waiting outside, a warm mug of butterbeer cupped in her hands. As he climbed off the bike and strode over to her he called, "Morning, De!"

"Not a bloody good one, though," She shouted back, holding up the butterbeer, "I wanted something stronger, but Tom said not before at least nine in the morning!" 

Delia was notoriously not a morning person.

Moments later Alex and Jake came swooping out of the sky, both looking bleary eyed.

"Morning boss, De," Alex said, eyeing Delia's butterbeer enviously. Jake didn't say anything, but rather slumped against the wall of the Leaky Cauldron in a half-doze.

"Alright troops - up and at 'em!" Ron said loudly in the hopes that this might spur them into action. He was decidedly wrong. De just glared at him and took another sip of butterbeer and Jake snored loudly. 

"Would somebody wake him up?" Ron asked, a bit peevishly. This wasn't going at all as he had hoped.

Alex jolted Jake away with a swift elbow in the ribs and Ron said, "Right then. We'd better be off because you lot will want to have landed before there's too much daylight and it's going to take me awhile to get there as well. We want to be able to start as soon as I arrive so get your stuff settled in at the inn headquarters arranged rooms at and I'll meet you there."

There were a few mumbled 'right's as the other three mounted their brooms and kicked off into the dawning sky.

Two and a half-hours later Three and a half hours later Ron pulled into the car park at the small inn they were staying at, just outside of Cardiff. He kicked the stand down on the bike, shouldered his pack, and headed over to the door quickly; it looked like rain. But then, when didn't it look like rain in Wales? 

The inn was situated in a wizarding village on the outskirts of Cardiff, which, small as it was, was the Welsh wizarding capital, so to speak.

Ron had passed an apothecary's shop having a sale on dragon toenails, a bookstore that reminded him of a much smaller Flourish and Blotts, a tiny joke-shop with brand-new dungbombs advertised, and a sweet shop from which the enticing smell of fresh fudge could be detected all the way up and down the high street. 

The inn they were staying at was a pub with some rooms above it that the proprietors rented out, much like the Leaky Cauldron. 

Ron walked past a sign, dangling from a post outside the door, that proclaimed the pub's name to passers-by (The Drunken Dragon) and underneath it was a colorful picture of a Welsh green slurping on a pint of mead. 

Shaking his head and chuckling, Ron pushed open the wooden door and ducked so as not to knock his head on the lentil when he entered. As he straightened up he took in his new surroundings. The interior of the pub was slightly dingy from frequent use and the air was permeated by the stench of smoke from pipes and cigarettes long since extinguished, but never quite gone. There were a few customers scattered at scarred tables here and there and the owner stood behind the bar fixing himself a mid-morning drink that Ron was sure the licensing laws didn't allow. 

At a table in the corner sat Delia, Jake, and Alex, munching on eggs, kippers, and toast and happily slurping away at large mugs of coffee.

Ron walked over to them and let him bag slide off his shoulder and onto the floor with a thump.

"Morning, boss," Jake said, looking up from his toast.

"Woke up, did we then?" Ron asked, grinning at him.

"That I did. All it took was that invigorating blast of wind when I got in the air-" He began eloquently.

"And about six cups of coffee once we got here.," Delia added, smiling serenely up at Ron. Jake looked sheepish.

"Well, I'm going to go order some breakfast.," Ron said, heading over to the bar.

"The owner's _friendly_!" Delia called after him, warningly. She didn't sound pleased about this.

As Ron approached the owner knocked back the dregs of whatever he was drinking and stuck his hand out for Ron to shake.

"Morning, sir! How can I help you?"

"Morning. My name's Ron Weasley. I've booked a room for a few nights and I'd also love a spot of breakfast, Mr.-?"

"That I'll bet you would! Atterly. Richard Atterly's the name. Now, can I get you the full English?"

"Erm, no. I think I'd better just have toast, an egg, and a few kippers, thanks. Long day ahead of me, you know."

"Indeed I do," Richard Atterly nodded knowingly, "indeed -" but he was cut off as the door flew open with such force that Ron was surprised it hadn't come straight off its hinges. 

A ruddy-faced man blew in with a gust of rain and wind, not bothering to pull off the oilskin cloak he wore. 

Richard Atterly seemed utterly unperturbed by this invasion of his little pub. "That's Morgan Jones.," He said cheerily, though in an undertone, to Ron.

"Atterly!" Morgan Jones roared, his already blotchy face made even more so by his considerable rage. "'E's dead! My prize fighter dead!"

This news did get a reaction out of Atterly - he looked as though Christmas had come early.

"Mordred? The big Welsh green?" 

"YES!" Jones moaned. "I know 'twas that gang of yours! Jes' cause you bet against him in the match coming Saturday!"

"Now, Morgan," Atterly said in a pacifying manner, "None of me friends have gone anywhere near your paddocks since last week's match. I should know; they're always in here drinking up me best brew!"

"Here, here!" came a voice from one of the tables.

"An how d'you know he was killed, Morgan?" Atterly continued, ignoring his chum. "I mean, mightn't he just died from somethin' natural-like?"

"Well," Jones shifted his weight onto a bar stool and put his light ginger colored head in his hands, "I suppose 'e might've."

"That's right, Morgan," Atterly said soothingly as he drew a pint of bitter and placed it before Jones, "There now, you drink that. It'll help." Then he turned back to Ron, who had been watching the whole exchange with amusement.

"I'll get your brekky in just a tic, Mr. Weasley. It's fixin' up to be an exciting day." 

He disappeared into a room behind the bar and Ron replied, more to himself than to anyone else, "That it is. That it is." 

__

Got a comment, question, criticism or just feel like saying something? Leave it in a review! C'mon, you know you want to!

~Anne


	5. International Travels and Tangents

The Dancing Days

The Dancing Days

Chapter 5

By Anne

__

Author's Note: Good grief, this has taken forever, hasn't it? Well - it's a nice long chapter, and stuff actually happens - which is a refreshing change. J It even involves four separate languages, so get out your hand held dictionaries! That's one of the reasons I've been so slow this time: I've been doing A LOT of research on Eastern Europe and Wales (you'll see). The other primary reason is that my computer has broken down three separate times in the two month's since I uploaded chapter four, which slowed me down a bit. Thirdly, I've just survived exams and the end of my sophomore year - it is finally summer: joy! Rapture! Sleep! J And now, on with the fic

Disclaimer: Sadly, they're not mine

"So you _have_ seen wands similar to this on the black market?" Ron asked for the fifth time.He was currently slumped over the counter of Morlan's Fine Wandery in the High Street of the small Welsh wizarding village he and his squad had been sent to. He was speaking with Morlan himself, who was being -er- less than cooperative, while being as cooperative as possible, of course.

"Well sir, you'll understand, of course, that I've no idea where I would find a black market, and if I had come across one in me dealings with business associates-"

"Yes, yes. You've said all that. But purely hypothetically?"

"Well sir, when you put it that way, as a concerned citizen-" Ron shot him a look, "Aye."

"You have," Ron repeated. "Where?"

"Well sir, it wouldn't be gentlemanly of-"

"_Where_?" 

"_Castell Cydweli_." The man muttered in Welsh, looking put out.

"Pardon?"

"Kidwelly Castle. It's west of here, near Dyfed. There's quite a community in there."

"Thanks very much." Ron said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice as he turned to walk out of the small shop.

He stepped out into the road, letting the shop door swing shut behind him.Ron returned to the pub and flopped down in a chair near the fire, next to Alex, who was already massaging his feet.

"Back already, boss?" he asked as Ron sat down.

"Yeah. I got a lead. How about you?"

"Nothing. What did you find out?"

"The guy sent me to Kidwelly Castle - in the south, but west of here. Near Dyfed."

"So when do we leave?"

"As soon as De and Jake get back; they should be done any minute, they were just going to Welsh headquarters to get all their previous information." At that moment Delia and Jake trudged through the pub door, both looking very wet.

"Bloody Welsh weather," Delia said, wringing out her hair. "I've half a mind to go straight back to the islands."

"Raining again?" asked Ron, mildly, earning himself a glare from De. 

"Alright you two, I've just been telling Alex that I got a lead from the wand maker. He wasn't particularly forthcoming," Ron smiled wryly, "but I did manage to find out where our 'den of thieves' is. We've got to go to Kidwelly Castle, which is an hour or so west of here. Longer I suppose, since it's raining again."

"You expect us to fly in that deluge out there?" Delia demanded hotly.

"Come on, De," Ron coaxed, "It's just a bit of rain - never hurt anyone."

"That's not what the wicked witch of the west thought." She muttered darkly.

"You're hardly the wicked witch of the west," Ron pointed out, ignoring Jake's sniggers and Alex's dubious look.

"I wouldn't bet on that, boss," Alex said. Delia stuck her tongue out at him.

"Children, children," Ron said placatingly, holding up his hand in a cease-fire, but trying not to smile.

"Everyone get packed up and meet me back down here in half an hour."

* * *

"Harry, I need you to work with Mundungus on this Neo-Death Eater case. The latest leads are sending us to Romania and Fletcher simply isn't up to that trip. He'll go as far as Bucharest with you, but you'll have to do the mountains and forests on your own. I've also arranged for informants." Aurelia Quackenbush leaned back in her desk chair, surveying Harry Potter.

"Isn't there anyone else, Aurelia? I was hoping to get some holiday time soon." He left the statement unfinished.

"I know, and I'm sorry Harry, but there's no one else on call who can work with Mundungus efficiently. He intimidates most of the younger agents and just drives the older ones up the walls."

Harry sighed, "Well, of course I'll go, but when I get back I'd really like a week or two of holiday. I haven't had any in five or six months."

"I think that can definitely be arranged," Quackenbush said. "You'll owl Mundungus, then?" 

"Sure," Harry replied glumly. "When should we expect to port to Bucharest?"

"I'll have one set up in Battersea for tomorrow afternoon. Mundungus lives over near there - well, not too far, anyway. Good luck, Harry."

"Thanks," he replied as he stood and walked out of the office. Harry strode back to his own untidy office and climbed through the gap in the wall that opened to admit him. He sat down at his own desk, pulling a sheaf of parchment and a quill towards him.

Mundungus - 

Quackenbush wants me to collaborate with you on the Neo-Death Eater case in Romania. We're to leave tomorrow afternoon, so write back quickly and I'll brief you as soon as you can come to the Academy. 

- Potter

He drew the second sheet of parchment to him and dipped his quill once more in the inkwell, thinking how to explain this to Ginny. Ah well, blunt and to the point was always a good choice. 

Gin,

Hey. How are things in Paris? Sorry to spring this on you, but something urgent's come up. I'm needed in Romania on a case with Mundungus Fletcher. We'll probably leave sometime tomorrow, so I'll write again whenever you send Hedwig back. I will get vacation time after this trip, though. See if you can take some time off in the next month or so. Sorry about this again - there's no getting out of it - I tried. 

Love, 

Harry

He then turned to the snowy owl perched on his window sill and attached each letter to one of her legs. 

"Take Fletcher's first, Hedwig, will you?" He said. "And by the time you've delivered Ginny's I'll be in Romania, okay?" 

She nipped affectionately at the hand that had finished fastening the letters on and then, in a whirl of wings and feathers swooped out the window. Harry stood for a moment, watching her until she flew behind a tall building and was gone. 

* * *

"Hermione?" came a voice from behind her office door.Hermione Granger-Weasley started and looked up to see her editor's face peering down at her, looking slightly concerned.

"Yes, Terry?" she asked, tucking a third pencil behind her ear and blinking in rapid succession as she turned away from her glowing word-processor.

"Hermione, how long have you been here?" asked Terry Boot. 

"Three years-" Hermione answered promptly.

"No, I mean since you last went home," Terry interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, that," Hermione consulted her watch, "Well, it all depends on whether that's two in the morning or two in the afternoon."

Terry shook his head, "Alright, Hermione. It's definitely time for you to go home and take a rest. Is Ron out of town again?"

"On business," she nodded, "But I can't possibly go home now, Terry. I'm almost done with the third set of revisions on this interview for-"

"Hermione, now," he said firmly. "That's an order."

"Alright, alright," she conceded. "When can I come back?"

"Not for a week," Terry replied, surveying her, "until those shadows under your eyes go away and you've had a few decent meals. Now go."

"I'm going!" She said, holding up her hands in surrender and shutting off her word-processor. Terry walked back into the corridor and waited. Hermione whispered "Nox" as she shut the door behind her.

* * *

"Castell Cydweli - 1 mile," Delia read off a road sign as she stood next to Ron, who was still straddling the huge motorbike.

"Well, I'll go up and tell Jake and Alex," she said, throwing a leg over her broom. "See you there," then with a swift kick-off she soared back up into the clouds. 

Ron watched her go and then started the bike again and kicked off himself. Minutes later all four of the M.L.E.S. agents had arrived at a large castle perched atop a hill near the town center of Dyfed. It looked as it must have done around the time it was built. Funny though, the Muggle tourists milling around it didn't seem to think so:

"Oh, isn't it lovely?" One woman said to her companion within Ron's hearing range.

"Yes. Such a pity it's in ruins, though." The second woman replied. 

Ron parked the motor bike as the others quickly shrank their broomsticks and pocketed them. A brief climb found them outside an enormous gatehouse. Ron gave the others a puzzled look, wondering how to get in. Alex returned it with a confused gaze of his own. It wasn't hard to see why. The gatehouse was blocked by two very formidable looking solid wooden doors. However, none of the Muggle tourists seemed to have noticed this. They were strolling straight through the doors the way Ron himself had often done to get through to Platform Nine and Three-quarters at King's Cross. It was as if they couldn't even see the doors. It was then that Ron remembered something Hermione had told he and Harry a long time ago - in their schooldays. 

__

"Hogwarts is hidden. It's bewitched. If a Muggle looks at it all they see is a mouldering old ruin with a sign saying DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE.'" 

Was it possible that this castle was hidden, too? Albeit differently? Ron didn't know, but he had an idea how to find out. 

He started to walk casually towards the large doors just slightly behind a group of Japanese Muggles with numerous cameras. As they approached the doors, the tourists just seemed to look through them and sure enough, they walked right through. Ron approached the doors in exactly the same manner (sans camera), but as he became level with the wood, and tried to walk through it, he hit the massive door with a thud and staggered back. Alex and Jake rushed forward to help and Delia appeared to be trying not to laugh - unsuccessfully.

It took Ron a moment to regain his composure."Well, that's obviously not-" he started, when a creaking noise behind him made him stop. They all turned and stared as one of the huge doors creaked slowly open so that it revealed a small man in shabby robes. He spotted them, gave a small squeak, and hurriedly began to try to shut the door again. All four of them rushed over.

"No!" Ron started.

"Don't!" Delia called.

They reached him when there was about a foot wedge of daylight pouring into the castle.

"Please, let us in." Delia gasped, trying to look pale. "I'm ill. With child, you know," She patted her stomach which suddenly seemed a great deal more swollen than it had minutes earlier.The balding wizard's eyes widened. So did Ron's.

"Please," De said again, "Just a drink of water and a place to rest before we continue. I couldn't sit on the broom another second."

Ron, catching on, put a supportive arm around her back and looked back at the wizard."We won't trouble you long; just until my wife can continue the journey. We're on our way back to London." 

Slowly, looking very wary, as though De might give birth on the castle floor then and there the wizard backed up and let them through.

"Brilliant, De!" Ron hissed in her ear as they passed.

"Shut up and let me go," she whispered back. He obligingly dropped his arm from around her back, but held onto her arm all the same. It had to look convincing, after all.

They walked through a dark entrance hall amidst various Muggles who no longer even acknowledged their presence. They were gazing avidly around them, pointing and gesturing, but every time one turned towards the five wizards they seemed to just look through them.

"Can't they see us?" Ron asked their guide, curiously.

"No," said the man in a rather high-pitched voice. "They see only a ruined castle. Not what truly is." And with that extraordinary pronouncement he led them through into an open air oval ring, crowded with people. Some were Muggles, looking just as the ones in the entrance had done, but others were obviously witches and wizards. They had set up shops and stalls all over the place. A particularly round woman dressed like a gypsy flounced over to them.

"'Ere now, Ernest! Who've you got there with ye?" She asked loudly in the voice of one who had had too much mead, too early in the day. Then she caught sight of De. "Good Lord! She's preggers!" 

At this several people at nearby booths turned to look. De, flushed slightly and mouthed 'Help' at Ron, but he just grinned back at her as the heavy woman grabbed her arm and lead her over to a caravan with a sign reading "Madame Mimi's Dark Divination Skills". 

"Now you just come with me, dearie. Ol' Ernest would have had you on your poor feet all day. You just come right in 'ere" 

She whisked De behind some curtains and the muffled sound of her voice was swallowed up by the noise of the rest of the crowd. Ron looked around in interest. Aside from Madame Mimi's there were purveyors of contraband brooms, flying Persian carpets, unpleasant looking potions, amulets and talismans of all sorts, and wands. 

It was this last item that attracted Ron's attention. 

He waited for Ernest to lead Alex and Jake off to a side of all the hullaballo before slipping into the crowd himself and wending his way over to the ramshackle booth in a corner labeled 'Fine Wands from abroad - what the government doesn't want you to know a wand can do.'. 

Ron shook his head. Did people really think like that? He strode over to the robust man standing behind the counter. 

"Can I 'elp you?" He asked. 

Ron stifled a snigger; this was the black market - in every sense of the term - and the man wanted to know if he could _help _him? The ironies of life.

"Er, yes. I'm looking for a wand," he replied, reaching into his pocket and producing the one he'd shown the shopkeeper in Caerphilly (the Welsh Wizarding capital and home of the Caerphilly Catapults), "Something like this. I borrowed it from a friend once and just haven't been able to settle for my old wand since. He told me about this place and so when the wife and I were down in Wales for a holiday of sorts, I thought I'd pop by."

The man nodded, "Well, try a couple of these," he said, pulling a few battered boxes from beneath the counter. Ron took out one of the stout, thick wands and gave it a swish through the air. Nothing.

"Where'd you say you got these wands?" He asked conversationally, as he took out another wand. 

"Bulgaria." The other man grunted, handing Ron yet another box. (The last had failed as well.)

"Really? Never been to Bulgaria myself - imagine it'd be quite different. Got a pretty fair Quidditch program there, though."

The man nodded briefly. "Krum's ruddy brilliant. The rest I could do without."

Ron smiled a bit, as he always did when he heard Krum's name now. In truth he felt a bit sorry for the Bulgarian. "Yes, he is. I met him once, y'know."

The man merely grunted, but Ron took this as a signal to continue.

"Yup - came to my school once. Don't know where in Bulgaria he was from though - didn't talk to him much." _That_ was an understatement. "You never know; he could be from the same village as this wand," Ron gestured with the current wand he was grasping and a single spark shot out of the end.

The man cracked a smile, but just barely. "Want me to wrap that up, then?"

"Er" Ron pretended to consider it, "You're sure this is legal, then?"

The man gave him a peculiar look and then a particularly twisted smile."It is as long as you don't get caught," he said with a rough laugh.

Ron nodded and replaced the wand on the counter, reaching once more into his pocket.

"Well in that case, I'd say you've got a bit of a problem Mr.-" he paused, but the other man made no reply and so he continued, "Well, whatever your name is, I'm terribly sorry to inform you, but-" he gave a wry smile, "you've been caught."

* * *

Nearly an hour later they headed out of Kidwelly castle, leaving some Welsh M.L.E.S. agents to deal with it. For the first time Ron looked down at Delia's swollen belly and asked tentatively, "That's not - y'know - _real_ is it?"

She looked up at him with a grin, "Nah, just a variation of an engorgement charm. Even us brilliant, successful, single witches with careers still have to do _that_ the old fashioned way."

"I'm very glad to hear it." Ron replied as they all mounted their brooms. 

"I stink!" Delia burst out suddenly, sniffing her robes in disgust.

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything on the ride over, but" Alex said, ducking as she took a swat at him.

"That horrible Mimi woman must have had enough incense in her caravan to suffocate the Pope!"

Ron laughed, remembering Professor Trelawney's tower room, "Remember, we're just flying back to London to the Continental Portkey Office. We'll port to Sofia and go from there. Gregorovitch is a very well known Bulgarian wand maker and he works out of a small town in the mid-east of the country called Byala. We'll try there first."

"Since when are you an expert on Bulgaria?" Jake asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Since I owled back to headquarters for information when I found out where we were headed," Ron retorted. "Now let's get going."

* * *

"So Sorjenson says the latest information is sending us to Romania," Harry looked across his desk at Mundungus Fletcher, who gazed back unblinkingly. 

"I've got that bit, laddy. When do we leave?" 

Harry had to grin, "Tonight, if possible. Can you wrap up everything here and be ready to leave, say, around eight? We can port over to Bucharest and then travel west from there. The last reported sighting of the Dark Mark was in the suburbs of a town called Slatina. We'll try there first."

"Right. Who were the victims?" That stare again.

"Muggle family - er, the name's here somewhere - Ileana and Nicolae Vladislav. They have a daughter who's a witch - Ylenia. She attends Durmstrang, I believe."

"The girl's still at school?"

"No, I've written to Nadia Movila, headmistress of Durmstrang, and I think she's staying with relatives in Slatina for awhile. She was at home at the time of the attack."

"We'll have to speak to her."Harry nodded, "Are you bringing the Delacour girl with you on this one?"

Fletcher nodded, "Good for her to see how it works in the field, I think." 

"Well, I think that's it. I'll see you at the C.P.O. at eight, then?" Harry said.Mundungus nodded shortly and stood. 

"See you Potter."

"Bye," Harry called as he left, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

* * *

"I _hate_ port-centers!" Alex exclaimed vehemently as a middle-aged woman rolled over his foot with her trolley. 

Ron rolled his eyes and Jake grinned. Delia, however, was nowhere to be seen.

"Where _is_ she?" Ron asked the air in front of his face exasperatedly.

"Well, you know women," Jake began, "Can't go away for the weekend without packing-"

"I'm here!" a voice called down the crowded, bustling terminal. De was dashing towards them, a large duffel bag slung over her shoulder. 

"Where were you?" Alex asked, still massaging his injured foot. 

"I got _detained_," she said, looking pained as they hurried toward their key-gate. "I went to Diagon Alley to pick up a few provisions and I bumped into an ex. Well, the engorgement charm hasn't quite worn off yet-" she gestured at her still somewhat swollen belly, "and he wanted to know what the hell I'd gotten myself into. It took quite awhile to convince him that I wasn't pregnant and it was a disguise," She shook her head. 

Ron grinned."De, all of London must be littered with your ex-boyfriends."

"Ha - this is nothing. Come back to Martinique with me to visit my Mum and Da and you'd get the shock of your life. I've been out with half of Fort-de-France. I was quite a wild-child in my youth." She pretended to look nostalgic and the three men laughed. 

"Attention! Attention please! Key number 346 for Paris, France will be leaving in ten minutes. All ticket holders please report to Gate 12 immediately," a magically magnified nasal voice boomed throughout the terminal.

"That's us!" Ron said, picking up his pace. 

"Paris? What're we going to Paris for?" De asked, jogging to keep up with his long strides.

"Well, we can't port directly to Sofia, but we can to Paris and from Paris to Vienna and Vienna to Sofia."

"Couldn't we go directly to Vienna?" she asked.

"We missed today's key - we'd have had to wait until tomorrow and then we would have lost a whole day."

"And we wouldn't want that, now would we?" De muttered mutinously under her breath. 

"Nope," Ron replied cheerfully. "And besides, I've owled ahead to Ginny, and she agreed to meet us in Paris and have a spot of dinner with us before we leave for Vienna."

Delia brightened at this suggestion. She had met Ron's sister only a handful of times, but had come to like her very much.

Jake and Alex seemed to perk up at this news, as well. 

They reached Gate 12 and deposited all their bags on a cart being manned by what looked suspiciously like a hag. She gestured them over toward a pert looking blonde witch in a uniform who was standing near a table holding a large inner tube with numerous rubber handles protruding from its sides.

"Everyone please step this way!" she called, "Take hold of a handle - no empty spaces please - we'll be leaving at precisely seven forty-three. Right this way, sir - take hold of a handle sir, and hang on tight," she directed a decrepit looking old warlock. "No, sir," she raised her voice, "Take hold of a _handle_ sir, not my hand." 

Ron tried, and failed, to hide a grin. Suddenly though, all such thoughts were wiped from his mind as he felt the familiar jerk somewhere in the pit of his stomach. In a whirl of color and wind they were all whisked off the ground in London and, moments later, landed with a thump in Paris.

Ron was still on his feet, though barely, but he was one of the few who still was. Most of the other port-passengers had fallen to the floor and were struggling to their feet with the help of uniformed witches and wizards speaking rapid French. 

__

"Ça va?" 

As Ron gazed around he was amused to see that one of the few people who was also still standing was the little old warlock. He was clinging to the blonde stewardess for dear life. 

Ron chuckled. 

De was still on her feet, but Alex and Jake had both fallen, so she and Ron bent to help them up. 

As De tugged at Alex's arm and tried to ignore the mischievous grin he was giving her, she heard a voice come from behind her.

"Hi everyone!" 

De looked over her shoulder and saw Ginny Weasley jogging toward them, beaming. In her moment of relaxation, Alex tugged on her arm and she toppled on top of him. Jake burst out laughing, as did Ron and Ginny when they caught sight of the two of them.

"Alex!" De screeched, hitting him upside the head as two of the French stewards rushed towards them.

__

"Mademoiselle! Monsieur! Avez-vous des blessers?"

Alex looked up at the two men standing over them, puzzled. De, however, replied in rapid French.

__

"Non, merci. Nous sommes bien. Aides-moi, s'il vous plait," she stretched up her hands, which both men took. 

They heaved her to her feet, and one of the men exclaimed, _"Zut! Tu es pleine!"_

At this, Ginny got involved in the conversation.

__

"Quoi?!"

As De said, _"Non! Ce n'est pas véritable! C'est un déguisement! Pourquoi est-ce que personne ne croit moi?"_

It was Ginny who replied as the two French stewards walked off, muttering.

"Maybe because you look distinctly pregnant, De," she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "It's good to see you again!" 

The two women embraced, and then Ginny held Delia at arms length. "Now just what have you gotten yourself into?"

"I didn't! It's just a variation of an engorgement charm! I swear - that's the last time I ever go undercover! Next time, you get to be the pregnant one!" She jabbed an accusing finger at Ron.

Everyone laughed."Well, isn't anyone going to introduce me to these two?" Ginny asked gesturing at Alex and Jake, who were standing to one side.

"You'd be better off if we didn't," De said.

Ron, however, did the honors.

"Gin, this is Alex Morinov and Jake Winston. Guys, this is my baby sister - be nice."

Ginny smiled and elbowed Ron in the side. "It's lovely to meet you both," she said, extending a slim hand. "Now, why don't we get going - I don't suppose you want to eat in the Portkey Center, and your key for Vienna is only in a couple of hours."

Half an hour later they were seated inside a bustling restaurant on the left bank of the Seine.

"What do you recommend, Gin?" Ron asked, looking down at the menu, befuddled.

"Well, la _salade de tomates_ is a lovely appetizer, and my favorite entrée is the _bouillabaisse_, but the _poulet avec les pommes de terres au gratin_ is great, too. That's chicken with potatoes au gratin. It comes with a side of asparagus. But for you, Ron, I think definitely the _steak-frites_." 

Her brother stared at her blankly for a moment before saying, "I'll just let you order for me, shall I?"

Ginny laughed as the waiter approached.

After a lovely, though all too short, meal during which they all ate and drank heartily, it was time to hurry back to the Portkey Center. They stepped out into the busy street and with a series of pops disappeared. 

"Well, I'll leave you all here, then," Ginny said, stretching out her hand to Jake and Alex in turn. "It was lovely to meet you both. De - great to see you again, and Ron," she said, giving her brother a huge hug, "It was lovely to see you, too. Give Hermione my love and don't stay away too long - who knows, we might end up in England at the same time!"

Ron bent down and kissed her cheek saying, "It was great to see you, too, Gin. And tell Harry I asked after him if you see him before I do."

"Not bloody likely, the way our lives are going," Ginny laughed. "But, in that unlikely event, I certainly will. Have a safe trip, you guys - and don't get into too much trouble!" She waved furiously before blinking out of sight. 

* * *

"Ylenia, I know this is a very difficult time for you, but if you could answer our questions, it would be very helpful in our search for the people who attacked your home," Harry said gently to the back of the seventeen-year-old girl who was gazing fixedly out the window. A long dark plait swung a bit as she turned. She looked at him with large, dark eyes and, after a moment, spoke in heavily accented English.

"Mister Potter, I vould like nothing better than to help you and your colleagues discover my parents killers. But you must know that all Death Eaters vear long, hooded robes. I simply could not see."

Harry nodded, "Yes, I understand - could we review the rest of your statement, please?" She remained silent and he took that as consent. 

"You've told the Romanian authorities that there were five Death Eaters. Is that correct?" Mundungus Fletcher put in. She nodded at the floor of her aunt's living room more than at him. "The tallest was about 190 centimeters - that's roughly" he did some quick calculations, "Six and a quarter feet. And the shortest was around 150 centimeters?" The plait bobbed up and down. "Quite a range, that." She shrugged. 

"I don't suppose _he_ chooses them by height," she spat the pronoun out as though it were something nasty she'd just eaten.

"He?" Harry asked.

"Vol- Voldemort," she said, her voice shaking slightly, but her gaze not wavering from his face.Harry shook his head - even now, they wouldn't stay the name. 

"Voldemort's gone, Ylenia. I destroyed him myself. This wasn't him."

"They thought he was gone before; that you killed him - and then he came back," she answered, ominously. 

Harry didn't know quite what to say.

* * *

"What does that sign say?" Ron asked, yelling back to Delia, who was riding on one of the tandem bikes provided for them by the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic.

"How should I know? It's in Bulgarian!" 

"Well, what's the town name?"

"B- B- hang on-" She squinted at the sign they were slowly approaching (she had quit pedaling) "Byala!" 

"Yes!" Ron pumped an arm in the cool air, causing the tandem to veer towards a cow pasture on the side of the road. He grabbed the handlebars just in time to prevent what would have been a rather embarrassing accident. 

Almost half an hour later the two bikes pulled into downtown Byala, which consisted of three main streets. They found the entrance to magical Byala in a dilapidated tea-shop. A short, round woman with gray hair wrapped tightly in a bun stuffed them with tea and biscuits before leading them out the back of the shop and into a small village square.

Ron spotted a tiny wooden cabin with the sign '_Gregorovitch Varázspálcas_' hanging over the door.He pointed it out to the others and beckoned them across the village green with him.

They entered the tiny shop and the old man behind the counter looked up, smiling, "_Szia. Mell ego segly te_?" 

De merely stared at him before turning to look at the shelves and Alex and Jake did likewise, but Ron had a go.

"Do- you- speak- English?" He asked very slowly.

The old man's smile widened revealing a few missing teeth. "Oh! Yes, I do. I was just asking how I could help you."

"Oh, thanks," Ron said, walking up to the counter and pulling the wand from Kidwelly out of his pocket. "Could you tell us if this is your work?" He asked, placing it on the counter.

Gregorovitch fingered the wand and held it up to the light. "No," he replied slowly, "it is similar to my work, but this is not one of mine. Where did you get it?"

"In Wales," Ron explained, re-pocketing the wand. "We've been having trouble with them on the black market. We're from the British Magical Law Enforcement," he produced a badge.

"Oh," said Gregorovitch, his eyes widening, "Well, I haven't exported to the U.K. since the Foreign Import Restriction Act of 1932. Let me see that wand again, please?" Ron handed it back. "Yes, yes," he murmured, "I see it now. This wand is very much like some a colleague of mine makes."

"Who would this colleague be?" Ron asked, pulling out a quill and piece of parchment.

"Dashmir Vorschev," replied Gregorovitch. "He works in a small village on the Albanian coast - Shngjin."

"Er- could you write that one down?" Ron asked, holding out the quill.

Minutes later Ron gathered De, Alex, and Jake, and aboard their tandem bikes they started to pedal their way back to Miskloc where they could get a portkey to Tiranë.

* * *

"Where on earth are we?" Harry asked as he found himself standing in the middle of a forest.

"'Ze middle of nowhere," Gabrielle answered from his left, as she popped up beside him. 

Fletcher just grunted. They had all just apparated from Slatina to what was supposed to be a safe apparition point on the way to Durmstrang, where they were to speak with Nadia Movila, the headmistress.

"Hang on a minute there!" A British voice called through the trees. "I'll be right with you!" 

Soon a red-haired man wearing thick dragon hide gloves came jogging towards them. 

"Charlie?" Harry said, in disbelief.

"Harry!" Charlie Weasley hurried over and shook his hand heartily. "What are you doing here?" 

"We're apparating our way to Durmstrang - this is one of the points on our itinerary."

"Yeah, we're pretty much in the middle of nowhere, so the dragon reserve does work as a safe apparition point sometimes. Come on, you've got to come see the camp. And who are your friends?" Fletcher scowled at this description, but Gabrielle beamed at Charlie.

"Oh, this is Gabrielle Delacour and Mundungus Fletcher," Harry said.

"Pleased to meet you." Charlie said, shaking each of their hands in turn.

Mundungus grunted and Gabrielle said, "_Enchantée_."

"She's French," Harry explained.

They were being led into a large clearing where numerous tents were set up and people were milling around, most wearing heavy gloves like Charlie and other protective gear. 

At one end of the clearing there were massive enclosures set up, where three huge dragons seemed to be sleeping. As they neared them, though, Harry realized that only two of the dragons seemed to be breathing. He recognized them as a Swedish Short-Snout and a Norwegian Ridgeback. One kept snoring and shooting five-foot jets of flame out of its nose. 

"Charlie," Harry asked, "What's wrong with that one on the end - the big silvery gray one?"

Charlie looked saddened and replied, "That's an old Ukranian Ironbelly. He died early this morning." 

"What did he die of?" Harry asked, looking at the old dragon with sorry eyes as well.

"Probably scale rot. The hide on his underbelly is nearly gone. The only thing I can't understand is why we didn't spot it sooner," he shook his head, then turned to the other three. "C'mon. I'll get you something to eat in the dining tent and you can tell me all about what's going on with everyone back home, Harry." 

The four of them walked back towards the compound of tents as Harry took one last look at the fallen dragon.


End file.
